


we are lost, but we are not gone

by persephoneggsy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Dollhouse Fusion, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Brainwashing, Character Death, Client!Victor, Doll!Yuuri, Dollhouse AU, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Morally Ambigous Victor Nikiforov, Morally Ambiguous Everyone tbh, Mystery, Non-Graphic Violence, Top Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri is referred to by different names for most of the fic, smut written by an asexual virgin, yeah somebody dies I'm So Sorry ;;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 108,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephoneggsy/pseuds/persephoneggsy
Summary: The Dollhouse deals in fantasy, but Victor Nikiforov just needs one night.At least, until he finds himself wanting more. And it's all because of Eros, the beautiful Active that's consumed his every thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have not watched Dollhouse in a very long time, so expect some inaccuracies concerning the canon of that show.
> 
> Anyway, I've always wanted to write something morally ambiguous/bordering on dark, and a Dollhouse AU is perfect for that. I honestly like the concept more than the show itself, though. :|
> 
> See end notes for more about the consent warning.

* * *

 

Eros is beautiful – that’s Victor’s first thought.

His second is one of bewilderment. As his eyes trail over the file he’s been given, he reads a list of basic information, skills, and “recommended uses”, but in the end, he’s drawn back to the photo, attached to the file via a paperclip. Short, dark hair and eyes like melted chocolate, it’s hard to deny how truly pretty Eros is – there’s just a slight hitch.

Eros is obviously a man.

A gorgeous man, but a man nonetheless, and Victor’s certain he asked for a woman. He makes a point of mentioning this to the Director, who sits across from him at the small meeting table, and who has been watching patiently this entire time.

Director Giacometti only smiles after Victor makes his complaint. He holds his hand out for the file, and Victor hands it over, though not without a suspicious frown.

“You specified that, yes,” he says, voice smooth and accented – Swiss, Victor wants to say, but he’s not sure. “But, taking your needs into account, I determined that Eros would be the most qualified for the job.”

That makes Victor raise an eyebrow. “You have no female Actives who could fit the bill?”

“I think you’ll find that Eros is… special,” Director Giacometti winks. He puts the file down in front of him and folds his hands on the table. “If I may… Why are you so set on a female Active? My sources tell me you like it both ways.”

Victor snorts, crossing his own arms. “They’re not wrong. But the party I’m going to, it’s… Well, let’s just say the host is a very traditional sort of man. Bringing a _male_ guest, no matter how attractive he is, might not go over very well.”

“And you have no lady friends who will accompany you? Surely you don’t expect me to believe that, what with a handsome man like you.”

“I am not someone who keeps in contact with former flames,” Victor retorts.

“So why bring a guest at all?”

“If I don’t, people will talk,” he shrugs.

“Ah, yes,” Director Giacometti chuckles, that smile still firmly affixed to his face. It’s beginning to annoy Victor. “The great dilemma of the rich and elite: gossip.”

Victor’s frown deepens. He reaches across the table and swipes the file back into his possession, ignoring Director Giacometti’s smug look. Instead, he flips it open and peruses its contents for what must have been the fortieth time. There’s the basic information:

**Name: Eros**

**Age: 23**

**Gender: M**

And right underneath it, a bullet-point list, labeled “Imprints”.

  * Yuji Hozumi – Professional danseur with the Tokyo Ballet Company. Trained in ballet, flamenco, ballroom, and tango, among others.
  * Arata Kazehaya – Extraction specialist. Former member of the Japanese Special Forces. Skilled sniper; deadly close-combatant.
  * Haruhiko Nanami – Male escort.



There are others, but Victor narrows his eyes at the third item. Across from him, Director Giacometti rests his chin in one hand and gestures with the other.

“You’ll take Haruhiko, then?”

He sounds bored, like that was the outcome he’d been expecting all along. Victor should say no, just to wipe that arrogant look off his face. He’ll say no, thank you, but he’d much rather take his business someplace where they will actually listen to his demands.

But just as he opens his mouth to say it, he catches sight of Eros’s picture again.

… He’s _very_ beautiful.

“… _Da._ Haruhiko, please.”

 

* * *

 

The party goes just about as well as Victor expects.

His host is properly scandalized when he sees the gorgeous young Japanese man who walks in with Victor, practically draped over his arm like an expensive piece of jewelry. The other guests point and stare, talking in hushed whispers, while others look on in envy – whether it’s of Victor or of Eros, the Russian doesn’t know.

No, not Eros, he reminds himself, stealing a glance at the Active beside him. This is Haruhiko Nanami, a high-end male escort.

He has to admit, the Dollhouse does its job every bit as well as he’d heard. Like the other Actives he’d seen walking around, Eros was a blank state, a lifeless being that must be led around by his handler. But when he’d shown up at Victor’s hotel at the appointed time, he seemed like a completely different person.

Victor was thrown by the sultry smirk on his face, and the not-so-subtle appraising those pretty eyes did, raking over Victor’s body with interest.

“Victor Nikiforov?” he asks, practically purrs. His voice is soft with an accent, Victor notes dimly.

He nods. “And you are Haruhiko.”

“Just call me Haru,” he says, stepping forward to loop his arm through Victor’s. He peers up at him through his long eyelashes. “Or maybe there’s something else you’d like to call me, Mr. Nikiforov?”

The question is posed very suggestively; Victor feels his lips twitch upwards in a smile. It’s been a while since he’s been with someone so bold.

“Let’s just start with Haru,” he answers. “And you may simply call me Victor.” Then, he wraps his arm around Haru’s waist, tugging him closer as he bends to whisper in the man’s ear. “But we’ll see how the night turns out, hm?”

Haru blinks, then giggles, then presses his body against Victor even more.

All throughout the party, Haru doesn’t leave his side. He talks and laughs when he’s supposed to, politely listens to the people Victor points out that are important, and flirts shamelessly with Victor all the while. At one point, he even cops a feel, but when Victor’s incredulous eyes turn to him, all Haru does is lick his lips and smile.

Victor could have been fooled into thinking Haru is just another date, a random person he picked up in a bar or a club. Of course, the $10,000 he’s shelled out remind him otherwise. Haru is a _hired_ companion, and on top of that, he’s not even real.

Damn if he doesn’t feel like it, though.

At the end of the night, Victor bids his blue-in-the-face host a delighted _adieu,_ and whisks Haru away, back to his hotel. Haru watches him expectantly, almost predatorily, as Victor leads him up to his room.

As soon as the door clicks behind them, Haru grabs Victor and pins him up against the back of it, his lips on his client’s. Victor lets out a startled gasp, but his shock lasts only a moment before his head clear, and he pushes back against the smaller man, fighting for dominance of the kiss just as passionately.

Haru breaks the kiss, laughing, as Victor pushes him roughly onto the bed, and Victor moves to attack his neck, laving it with his tongue and teeth. Haru tilts his hips up and begins grinding against Victor – they both moan at the friction.

“Mm – _fuck!”_ groans Haru. “God, I couldn’t believe it when I saw you… My clients are never as handsome as you are, _aah…”_

Victor nips at his jaw lightly before pulling back, fingers unbuttoning his shirt as fast as humanly possible. Haru watches him, licking his lips. When Victor tosses his shirt aside, Haru lets out another wanton moan at the sight of his bare torso, and pulls him in for another heated kiss.

“And what – nn – what are your clients usually like?” Victor manages to ask, panting against Haru’s mouth.

Haru’s hands go to his pants, pulling at the belt buckle insistently. “Fat, balding, and with tiny dicks.”

Victor actually laughs, but obediently tugs down his pants and his underwear in one smooth motion, letting his erect cock spring free. He feels a surge of pride as Haru freezes, his brown eyes glued to his manhood.

“I’ve been told that my hair is thinning,” Victor says lightly. “But two out of three isn’t bad, _da?”_

“Fuck…” Haru whispers, in the tone one might worship a deity with. “Get that thing inside me, _now.”_

“Patience, _zvyozdochka,”_ Victor murmurs back, tossing the pet name out casually. Haru seems to like it when he speaks in his native tongue, if the dilation of his pupils is any indication. “You’re not even naked yet.”

“Ah…” Haru glances down at his body, then back up at Victor, something like coyness flashing in his eyes. “Did you want a show?”

Victor smiles. “Perhaps another time,” he hears himself say, and is surprised to discover that he’s actually considering it. “For now, just take them off, quickly, and lie on your stomach.”

Haru scrambles to obey him, quickly shedding the tight, yet clearly expensive suit he’d been wearing, the fabric falling carelessly to the floor. Victor is pleased to find out that Haru foregoes underwear.

As the Japanese man lies on his stomach and sticks his ass out invitingly, though, Victor finds himself pleased for another reason entirely.

“A plug?” he asks aloud, fingers softly touching the blue plastic plug, which is nestled between the cheeks of Haru’s firm, plump butt.

Haru tilts his head back to grin at him. “It saves time,” he says flippantly. “Though, if I’d known how big you are, I’d have used my larger one…”

“Flatterer,” Victor quips. He leans over Haru, the heat of their bodies together almost scorching, to dig into the bedside table and pull out a packet of lube and a condom. Haru eyes them warily.

“You don’t need the condom,” he says. “I’m clean.”

Victor pauses, raising an eyebrow as he smirks. “And how do you know I am?”

“You must be,” he shrugs. “All my clients are.”

“Well…” Victor glances at the condom, then at Haru – or more accurately, Haru’s ass, which looks more inviting by the minute. He tosses the condom to the floor. “Suit yourself.”

Haru practically beams as Victor opens the lube and spreads it onto his cock, then mewls as the Russian tugs out the plug and throws it aside to get lost in the bedsheets. Seconds later, Victor is lining his cock up with Haru’s hole, and then he’s pushing in, stretching Haru out and making him _scream._

The rest passes by in a blur, as far as Victor’s concerned. He remembers his bruising grip on Haru’s waist, the way he pants and moans like a two-bit whore, begging for _more, Victor, God, harder, fuck me harder._ He remembers how tight and hot Haru is around him, how every thrust in is like sliding into a silken cage of pleasure.  He remembers his own voice, rough and more Russian than English, switching between praising and demeaning. Haru is called both an angel and a slut, a vision and a dirty whore, often within the same three sentences. He seems to love it, so Victor keeps doing it.

By the time they’ve finished, the sun is already rising. Victor’s climaxed twice, and Haru an astonishing _four._ They lay in the hotel bed, fighting to catch their breaths, and for a while, neither of them speaks. Eventually, though, Haru does speak up.

“That was… _Wow.”_ His voice is hoarse from screaming.

Victor glances at him, only to find Haru staring right back. He offers him a smile.

“Indeed, it was. I’m glad to see you’re worth every penny.”

Haru lets out a tired chuckle. “Now who’s the flatterer?”

Victor reaches out and smooths back Haru’s hair, then presses a kiss to his sweat-slicked brow. Haru hums contentedly.

“But really, Victor… That was incredible,” Haru says, almost _shyly,_ taking Victor by surprise. He looks down into Haru’s eyes, and finds something… different. There’s no heady gleams of confidence, nor any trace of the sultry vixen Victor’s just spent the entire night fucking. Now, Haru’s eyes seem almost… innocent? Or perhaps insecure?

He can’t dwell on it, really, because Haru is still talking.

“I’ve never been with anyone so… Can I see you again?” he asks, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

Victor stares at him. “You want to see me again?” he repeats dumbly.

Amazingly, that causes Haru to flush, his cheeks turning dark red, just like they were not so long ago. But instead of being caused by arousal, it’s clear that he’s blushing from _embarrassment._

Victor thinks it’s… kind of adorable.

“I-If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” Haru mumbles under his breath, averting his eyes from Victor with a pout on his swollen lips.

That snaps Victor out of his daze. He leans in and kisses Haru softly, easing the pout away. When he pulls back, Haru looks pleasantly dazed.

“I’d love to see you again, Haru,” says Victor. His eyes glance over to the clock – it reads five till eight. “I’ll call.”

Haru smiles, his eyes lighting up. “Great! Oh, um, you don’t have my personal number, hold on…”

Victor watches as he dives to scoop his jacket off the floor, rooting through its pockets for his cell phone. Just as he pulls it out – it’s black, Victor notes, with silvery stones decorating the case – a knock comes at the door.

Haru pauses, sending Victor a confused look. “Who is that?”

Victor shrugs, pretending not to know. “Probably housekeeping. Hold on.”

He gets up, more than aware of Haru’s eyes on him, and walks to the door, uncaring about his lack of clothes. He opens the door, and on the other side is a tall Japanese woman, with long brown hair and a slender build. A large duffel bag hangs off one of her shoulders. She doesn’t react to Victor’s nakedness, and instead asks a simple question.

“You are done?”

Victor nods and steps aside.

Haru tenses visibly at the sight of the woman, his eyes filling with confusion. He looks at Victor.

“Who is that? Victor?”

The woman steps further into the room and gives Haru a comforting smile.

“Hello, Eros. Would you like a treatment?”

Almost immediately, the concern fades from Haru’s face – everything fades. His shoulders slump, his eyes dim, and he answers in a dull voice.

“Yes. I like my treatments.”

The woman lays the duffel bag on the bed, and pulls a set of clothes from it – a grey t-shirt, sweatpants, and a pair of sneakers. Haru – no, Eros moves automatically, getting up from the bed with little more than a moment’s pause as he feels the ache in his lower half. The woman regards him curiously before he begins to move again, grabbing the clothes and pulling them on. Victor watches with amusement as his come slides down the Active’s thigh, and the Active doesn’t even react.

It’s silent as Eros dresses, and the woman collects his clothes and phone, and even the blue plastic plug. She tosses them all in the duffel bag without batting an eye, and when that’s done, so is Eros.

The woman turns to Victor and smiles pleasantly. “We’ll be leaving now. Director Giacometti hopes you are satisfied?”

Victor nods, giving Eros a curious once-over. The Active just stares blankly at the floor. “… Very. I may call again.”

She nods, too, then turns to Eros. “Come,” she says gently, and Eros immediately follows her. They disappear out the door, and Victor is left to stand thoughtfully by himself, in a room that suddenly seems too big for one person.

He thinks of that vulnerable expression in Haru’s eyes, right at the end, and then the way those eyes turned lifeless and cold the moment he became Eros again.

Victor rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, and vows not to think of it again.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Victor is back at his home in St. Petersburg, and a package arrives at his door.

His dog, Makkachin, sniffs the slim packet curiously, and he gives him a humoring pat on the head before inspecting it for himself. There’s no return address, just Victor’s name and the address of his apartment.

It’s too slim to be anything dangerous, he reasons internally, so he rips it open… only to find a CD inside.

It’s just an ordinary CD, but it’s the label that catches Victor’s eye.

 _‘The Real Haruhiko Nanami,’_ it reads.

Minutes of staring later, Victor gets out his laptop and puts the CD in the driver. He bounces his leg anxiously as the CD loads, and then a video pops up on the screen. The frame which lies under the triangular play button is an image of Eros, but he’s different. His hair is messy and tousled, and he’s wearing blue-rimmed glasses.

Nervous for some unfathomable reason, Victor hits play.

 _“Um… Hello,”_ the onscreen Eros says, shifting in his seat. _“M-My name is Yuuri Katsuki. I…”_

He’s clearly hesitating, but then a voice off-screen coaxes in a soothing tone – Victor recognizes the voice. It’s Director Giacometti.

“ _Go on,”_ he says. _“It’s alright. We need this recorded so we know we have your consent, Mr. Katsuki.”_

Eros – Yuuri Katsuki, Victor’s head replaces – nods, taking in a shaky breath. Victor leans in.

_“My name is Yuuri Katsuki, and I hereby consent to give the Dollhouse use of my body for five years. My consent includes any and all activities that fall under the Client’s wishes, so long as I am not seriously injured…”_

_“Does that include sexual activities?”_ asks the Director.

Yuuri’s eyes go wide for a fraction of a second before he blinks, hard, and swallows. _“Any and all,”_ he repeats, staring down. Victor leans in even further – the video quality isn’t great, but it looks like Yuuri is about to cry.

 _“… Alright,”_ comes Giacometti’s voice. It’s oddly somber. _“That’ll do.”_

The video cuts out. Victor is staring at a blank screen. Slowly, he leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath. Something heavy settles in his gut, and he’s not sure what it is.

He thinks it might be guilt.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consent warning is due to the fact that Yuuri isn't exactly Yuuri when he and Victor have sex. He's an alternate identity, who does in fact want to have sex with Victor, but it's still Yuuri's body and he's not really in control. Agreement at the end notwithstanding.
> 
> I have plans to write more for this, but it might be a while. I've never written a story like this before, so I'm mostly testing the waters right now lmao


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmkay, so I got some really nice responses to the first chapter, so we're doing this.
> 
> Bear in mind that I have a mostly-nebulous grasp of the plot right now. I have all the major events planned, but tying them together might be tricky. We'll see how it goes I guess ;;

* * *

 

 

Minako watches with a small frown as Guang-Hong performs the wipe on Eros. Her Active is lying on a strange-looking chair, his head surrounded by an odd device that she’s sure Guang-Hong has explained to her hundreds of times, but she still insists on calling it a sci-fi dentist’s chair.

Eros is staring at the ceiling as blue lights flash from the device, his face mildly panicked, but that’s par for the course with wipes. His fingers twitch on the armrests of the chair, but just as quickly as he starts, he stops, the lights dying down.

Guang-Hong pushes a button on his little control panel, and the chair starts to sit up.

“Hello, Eros. How are you feeling?” the young man asks gently.

Eros blinks, as though he’s just awoken from a nap, and stares at Guang-Hong curiously.

“Did I fall asleep?” he asks in reply.

“For a little while,” says Guang-Hong.

Eros considers this for a few seconds. Then, “Shall I go now?”

The programmer nods. “If you’d like.”

Eros removes himself from the chair, then stands awkwardly in front of it. He looks unsure, so Minako steps forward with her best smile.

“You must be hungry, Eros.”

Eros puts a hand to his stomach. “I am hungry.”

“Go and get something to eat. I hear they’re serving pancakes today.”

Her Active slowly smiles, gazing at her with his typical dopey expression. “I love pancakes.”

She and Guang-Hong watch as he takes his leave through the double-doors of the lab, not sparing either of them another glance. She knows he’ll make a beeline for the cafeteria. There, he’ll eat, and when he’s done, the staff will herd him along to other activities. Standard procedure.

Minako turns to Guang-Hong, who is staring disinterestedly at his monitor. On the display is Eros’s statistics; body heat, heart rate, chemical balances. It’s all Greek to her, so if Guang-Hong doesn’t voice any concerns about anything, then she’ll let him be.

Just as she turns to leave, though, the programmer does speak up.

“Oh, Director Giacometti wanted to see you as soon as Eros’s wipe was finished.”

Minako pauses, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Did he say what he needed?”

The younger man shakes his head. “No. Just that he wants you in his office as soon as you’re available.”

She sighs. There go her plans of taking it easy for a while - Eros, while fairly expensive, is a very popular Active, and so she’s one of the busier handlers at the Dollhouse. She thanks Guang-Hong, leaves the lab, and makes her way out of the facility to Director Giacometti’s office.

The facility is a large, mostly underground structure, though the simulated sunlight shining from the electronic-screen windows gives the illusion of being topside. It’s a beautifully designed space, Minako would admit, and it has everything a person could ever want or need. So for the Actives, it’s more than enough.

She passes by the cafeteria on her way to the elevators, spotting Eros sitting at a table, a plate of pancakes in front of him. Also at his table is their newest recruit: Agape, a young, beautiful boy with long blond hair and striking green eyes. Giacometti has assured her that he’s eighteen, but he looks so young that even Eros, who appears seventeen at twenty-three, actually looks his age.

They’re not speaking to each other, of course, because the Actives almost never interact with each other beyond simple phrases. “Hello”, “How are you”, “I’m fine, thank you” is the longest conversation she’s ever heard Eros have with another Active. But what catches her attention is the fact that this is not the first time she’s seen them together. Agape has taken to standing next to Eros during their exercise periods, and she’s sure she’s seen them together in art class, too.

It’s puzzling, because Actives aren’t supposed to form attachments with each other when they’re in their doll-like state. They simply go along with the motions, each contained in their own pleasant little bubble. She stares at Eros and Agape, both silently eating their food, and feels uneasy.

She’ll have to mention it to Director Giacometti, she decides, stepping into the elevator.

His office is aboveground, the very top floor of the facility, so the first thing she sees upon exiting the elevator is real sunlight, streaming through the wall-sized windows. The Director is the only other person in the room, reclining casually at his desk. When he sees Minako come in, he gives her a charming smile and stands up, opening his arms theatrically.

“Minako! Glad you could make it.”

She rolls her eyes, but her lips can’t help but smile. “As if I could refuse. You’re my boss, Giacometti.”

“Please, darling, just Christophe. It’s only us.”

He gestures to the luxury sofa, so she sits down. She watches as he walks around his desk and grabs two glasses and a decanter of wine. As he walks towards her, he fills the glasses and offers one to her; she accepts it, sipping the expensive drink politely, though she doesn’t take her eyes off the man who is now sitting _very close_ to her. His arm - the one not preoccupied with win - is draped over the back of the sofa, practically around her shoulders.

“How did the assignment go?” Christophe asks, swirling his drink carefully.

“Same as usual,” she answers. “Mr. Nikiforov was very satisfied with Eros. He said he might call again.”

Christophe chuckles, taking a long sip from his glass. “As I expected. Tell me, what did you think of him?”

Minako frowns. “Of who? The client?”

He hums affirmatively.

“Well, he’s… normal. Isn’t he? Handsome, certainly. Haruhiko definitely liked him.”

Christophe hums again, though this time it has more of a considering tone. Minako sips her wine and tilts her head at him.

“Was I meant to notice something odd about him?” she asks.

“No, no, he’s a perfectly ordinary man,” says Christophe. He pauses for a moment. “Well, as ordinary as any of our other clients are, I suppose. Rich and powerful, but still just a man.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “So why do you ask?”

“I have the feeling we’ll be catering to Mr. Nikiforov’s… needs in the future. Quite often. So I’m decreasing Eros’s availability to accommodate for that. And as his handler, I needed to inform you of that fact.”

Minako’s eyes go wide. “It was just one night, Chris!” she exclaims. “How do you know Mr. Nikiforov will even ask for Eros again? A lot of our clients ask for different Actives.”

“Oh, he’s quite attached to Eros already,” says Christophe, tone flippant. “He’ll ask for him again. He’ll ask for Eros exclusively.”

Minako stares at him for a long while. Then, she quietly sets her half-full cup down on the glass table in front of them, and looks back at Christophe with suspicion in her eyes.

“What are you planning, Chris?”

He smiles placidly at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Planning?”

Minako groans. “You _do_ know what I’m talking about. You’re going to do something that will upset the Chairman. Again.”

“Everything upsets the Chairman,” snorts Christophe. “Have you met the man?”

“No,” she answers dryly. “No one but you ever has. That doesn’t mean we don’t feel the brunt of his anger when you mess things up. Remember Pragma?”

At once, Christophe’s expression falls, and Minako immediately regrets what she’s said.

“I - shit, Chris, I didn’t mean to…”

“No,” he removes his arm from the sofa and holds it up, in a placating gesture. There’s a weak smile on his face, obviously fake. “No, I know. But you’re right. Pragma was my fault. You and the rest of the staff shouldn’t have paid for it like that.”

“Still…” Minako gently closes her hand over his knee. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Chris takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “One day, I might even be able to come to terms with it.”

Minako offers him a small smile, but doesn’t add anything more. Silence strains between them for a long while, until Minako speaks up again.

“Chris? There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about, if that’s alright.”

“Oh? Finally accepted my date offer?” Christophe grins.

She shoves him in the shoulder. “No. It’s about Agape.”

“Hm? What about him? He’s been settling in alright, hasn’t he?”

“Well, you’d have to ask Lilia about that,” she sighs. “But I’ve noticed something myself.”

She explains her concerns about Agape and Eros’s apparent ‘bond’, but to her confusion, Christophe only grins wider at the news.

“Oh, that’s precious,” he whispers. “The two of them being friends…”

Minako makes a face at him. “You do know they aren’t supposed to do that, right?”

“I know, I know,” he waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll talk to Guang-Hong and Lilia about it later.”

“Good,” she nods.

“Now… About that date offer.”

“I’m still ten years older than you, Chris.”

“And I’m still very much attracted to older women, Minako.”

Minako shoves him again, and they quickly dissolve into their usual banter. Soon, her worries about Eros and Agape are pushed to the farthest corners of her mind. Christophe will handle it, she knows.

She certainly doesn’t spare another thought for Eros’s newest client. She’s not even sure she remembers his name.

 

* * *

 

“Victor?”

…

“Victor.”

…

“Victor!”

Victor blinks, his entire body flinching in surprise as his ears are assaulted by a loud shriek - his assistant's shriek, to be more precise. He turns with a pout to see Yakov standing in front of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest and his face practically red with anger.

“Yakov,” he greets blandly. “Did you knock?”

“ _Yes,_ I did, but I had to let myself in when you didn’t say anything,” grumbles the older man. “What’s gotten into you lately? I’ve never seen you so distracted.”

Victor sighs, pushing his hair out of his eyes, then running his hand down his face. “I’ve just been thinking about some things,” he answers vaguely, “that’s all.”

Yakov grunts, clearly not convinced. “You’ve been doing a lot of thinking since Senator Sokolov’s gala a while back. Perhaps you’re just now realizing the repercussions of your actions? Honestly, showing up with a prostitute…”

“He was not a prostitute,” Victor snaps, surprised at the fervent tone of his own voice. Yakov seems surprised, too, as he takes a step back.

But Yakov recovers quickly. “I-In any case, bringing a _man_ as your date, profession aside… You’re lucky I managed to keep that little tidbit from your grandfather.”

Victor shakes his head. “ _Dedushka_ would not care. He’d care more if it were a woman and I’d gotten her pregnant.”

“You’re going to take over this company, Victor,” groans Yakov. “You could at least pretend to care about how your actions reflect on it.”

“It won’t be my company for a long while,” says Victor. “Not unless _Dedushka_ is dying. Or more unlikely, he’s planning his retirement.”

“Just…” Yakov pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t pull another stunt like that. If not for your reputation, then for your productivity. You’ve been working on the same budget reports for two hours now.”

“Have I?” Victor blinks. He stares down at his desk and notices the spreadsheets and reports strewn across the surface, but honestly, none of them look familiar to him. He probably wasn’t paying that much attention in the first place. “... Huh.”

Yakov shakes his head, turning on his heel to leave.

“Must have been one hell of a man,” he murmurs, but Victor still hears him.

He stares at the door to his office long after Yakov closes it behind him. He sees his name, spelled backwards from his perspective, in gold Cyrillic on the frosted glass. Figures just outside his door move back and forth, appearing blurry, indistinct. He closes his eyes with a sigh.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about it. He never watched it again, but the mysterious video he’d been sent still sits on his laptop, its presence quietly foreboding. Victor’s thought about deleting it, throwing the CD in the trash and never thinking about it - about _him_ \- ever again.

But he can’t.

Logically, he knows that all the Dolls at the Dollhouse were people before. _Real_ people, not the blank, childlike husks that wander the facility like zombies. They had identities, personalities, hobbies, likes and dislikes, and he knows that all of that was wiped away when they volunteered to sign onto the program.

Yuuri Katsuki didn’t seem like he was volunteering.

Victor can’t get his image out of his mind. Rather, he can’t reconcile Yuuri with the Active he hired, or with the Doll he reverted to when all was said and done.

Eros is blank, dispassionate. Haru is flirtatious and bold. Yuuri… Victor doesn’t know him, but he seems shy. Anxious. Not someone who would voluntarily give over his body for _five years_ to let strangers like Victor do what they pleased with it.

Victor shakes his head. No, Yuuri had to know what he was getting into. If he were really that uncomfortable, he never would have given his consent. Victor doesn’t know his reasons for joining the Dollhouse, but he’s a part of it now. Just because he’s having reservations doesn’t mean every other client will. At the end of the day, Eros will be imprinted and sent into somebody else’s arms.

And Victor finds that he doesn’t like that.

He digs his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolls to find the number he is searching for. His thumb hovers over the ‘call’ button for a millisecond before he presses down, moving quickly to hold the phone to his ear.

It picks up on the second ring.

 

* * *

 

Haru strolls into the hotel lobby, deliberately swaying his hips to earn glances from the numerous passer-by who suddenly can’t seem to look away from him, and he smirks. He’s always liked attention. His low-slung jeans and tight t-shirt are certainly helping his efforts. A few of the people he passes even look _scandalized,_ and he does his best to hold in a giggle.

He makes his way to the elevators, sends a wink to the awestruck young woman that’s in there with him, and gets off at Floor 31. From there, it’s a short walk to room 129 - he knocks on the door and waits patiently.

Seconds later, the door swings open, revealing the handsome face of Haru’s client. Haru feels a genuine grin stretch across his lips.

“Victor,” he greets.

The Russian smirks at him and steps aside, letting Haru saunter inside the hotel room. It’s a _very_ nice room, though not nearly as nice as the one they spent their first night in. He supposes Victor is trying to be more discreet now.

Victor has yet to say anything, so Haru sits himself down on the king-sized bed and crosses his legs, sending the taller man a pout.

“You took your time. I waited a whole two weeks.”

“I’m a busy man,” he answers nonchalantly, closing the door and walking back into the room. He stands in front of Haru, and reaches out with his hand, caressing the side of his face. Haru leans into the touch, smiling up at him.

“Really? And what is it that you do for a living, Mr. Nikiforov? Investment banker? Lawyer?”

Victor chuckles. “Not quite, but equally as boring. It’s a family business. But enough about my job… let’s get down to yours, _zvyozdochka.”_

Haru lets Victor push him further up the bed and crawl on top of him, enjoying the firm weight of the man pressed against him.

“You called me that before,” he points out, just as Victor begins kissing his jaw. “Ziv-yoz-doka?” he tries, his accent butchering the pronunciation, but when Victor breaks away, it’s to smile charmingly down at him.

“ _Zvyozdochka,"_ he corrects. “It means ‘little star’. But I do like the way Russian sounds on your tongue.”

“Bet you’d like something else on my tongue even better.” Haru licks his lips, showing off his tongue, and Victor watches it with a gleam in his eye.

“Now there’s an idea,” he grins. He descends on Haru again, and the younger man soon becomes lost in a misty haze of kisses, skin, and sex.

Victor is just as thorough as he was the first night, slowly taking Haru apart with his tongue and fingers, bringing him to orgasm twice before finally bringing out his own cock. He orders Haru to suck it, and he doesn’t need to be told twice; he swallows down his dick like it’s the only thing he was ever meant to do, moaning like a whore the whole time. Victor fucks his mouth for what feels like ages, until suddenly he’s tugging Haru up to straddle his waist, and asks sweetly if he’d like to ride him.

Haru thinks he might be in love with this man.

Hours later, as Haru is is tired and sated and dozing off on Victor’s chest, Victor is carding his fingers through Haru’s hair. The gesture is warm - no, it’s comfortable. Haru’s never felt so comfortable in all his life, especially not with a client.

His finger is tracing circles on Victor’s skin when he speaks. “Why ‘little star’?”

Victor’s hand doesn’t stop combing Haru’s hair. “Hm?” he asks sleepily.

“Little star. _Zvyozdochka._ Why that name?”

He feels more than see Victor shrug. “It was just the first name that came to me. Do you not like it? I could always call you something else.”

Haru lifts his head to look at his client. “Like what?”

“Like…” Victor purses his lips, pretending to think. “ _Blyadischa._ Or maybe _shalava."_

Haru’s brow furrows. “What do those mean?”

Victor grins mischievously. “‘Whore’ and ‘dirty slut’, respectively.”

Haru pinks, and his cock stirs valiantly between his legs. It’s one thing to be called names in Victor’s unbelievably hot accent, but it’s another _entirely_ when he does it in his mother tongue.

Victor chuckles, having obviously felt Haru’s reaction against his thigh, and presses a kiss to his temple, much like he did that first night.

“Sleep, Haru. If you wake early, maybe we go another round before you leave.”

Haru nods, slowly lowering his head back onto Victor’s chest. His client pulls him in close as his eyelids flutter shut.

Thing is, he’s not sure he wants to leave. Something about Victor is different, he’s... special.

_Oh,_ Haru remembers faintly as he begins to drift off to sleep. _I still don’t have his number. I need to ask him for it._

He resolves to do just that, right before he’s overtaken by exhaustion, and he falls asleep with a content little smile on his face.

When he wakes up hours later, Victor is nowhere to be seen, and a woman - why does she look so familiar? - stands at the foot of the bed.

She smiles gently. She has a pretty smile.

“Hello, Eros. Would you like a treatment?”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to correct me on any and all future foreign words that may appear in this fic, please go on ahead. I'm currently only using the internet for reference.
> 
> Also the Chris/Minako flirting wasn't exactly planned, but I like it. So. Yeah. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys ever write a story and hope to God you're not making it too easy for the readers to predict what's gonna happen
> 
> yea
> 
> that's me right now

 

* * *

 

 

The lights in the lab always go crazy during an imprint. Guang-Hong has received complaints from multiple handlers about it, which is why most of them don’t stay in the room with their Actives when it happens. There are exceptions, like Minako and Lilia, who are oddly protective of their charges, but the majority prefers to wait outside. Like Celestino.

Guang-Hong’s already used to the lights - hell, he built the system himself, adjusting it from the blueprints provided by the company - so he just watches on, impassive, as Philia twitches on the chair. When the imprinting is done, the chair automatically straightens, bringing the blinking Active up with it.

“Whoa,” Philia, or rather, Imprint PH-#22, Sonthi Atitarn, shakes his head, as if clearing it. He grins at Guang-Hong, who smiles back automatically. “That’s always a rush. You guys should go worldwide with that shit!”

Guang-Hong chuckles just as Celestino deigns to enter the room, now that he doesn’t have to risk getting a seizure.

“The world’s not ready for that yet, Sonthi,” he says. “Now, don’t you have a concert to get to?”

Sonthi beams, hopping out of his chair before Celestino can even make it within five feet of him. “Fuck yeah! My girlfriend got us tickets to see the hottest DJ in town!”

Celestino begins to usher Sonthi out, speaking placatingly. “Yes, yes, but first, you should get dressed. Can’t have you showing up on Amy’s doorstep in your pajamas.”

Sonthi gasps. “Shit, you’re right! Alright my man, lead the way!”

Celestino has a barely-restrained smile on his face as he nods to Guang-Hong and leads the recently-imprinted Active out to the Wardrobe. Guang-Hong turns back to his computer with a self-satisfied smirk.

Just last week, Philia would have been offended at the mere idea of going to see a  _ DJ.  _ Then again, Imprint PH-#14 was something of a snob - their client preferred it that way, apparently. Still, the stark contrasts between the imprints is always amusing to watch. He’s just  _ that  _ good.

He loses himself in his work quickly, typing away absent lines of code, cleaning up bits of program here and there, and occasionally responding to texts from his boyfriend, when the door opens, and he turns to see Minako and Eros, as Imprint ER-#3, walk in.

“Can we hurry this up?” Haru complains, already moving to sit in the chair. Minako stands at her usual spot next to Guang-Hong’s set-up. “I need to see Victor.”

“It’ll be quick, I promise,” she says, taking on that soothing tone all the handlers seem to know. “I’ll bring you right to him when we’re done.”

Haru nods sharply. “Good. He’s got a lot of explaining to do, that jerk.”

Guang-Hong raises an eyebrow but types in the presets and starts the wipe anyway. 

“What did the client do?” he asks Minako. “Last time he seemed like he was on Cloud Nine. Wasn’t it the same guy?”

“It was,” she nods, barely even flinching as the lights start flashing and Eros begins convulsing. “I guess he had to leave earlier than expected, so Haruhiko woke up to an empty bed. He wasn’t happy about it.”

Guang-Hong hums, expression bored. “Well, lucky for him, he’ll forget all about mean Mister Victor in just a few seconds…” He speaks in a condescending tone, like one that would be used to pacify a child. Which is basically what the Actives were in their resting state - he likes to call it 'tabula rasa' - the blank slate.

She laughs. “Are you sure you have a boyfriend? You act like such a sociopath.”

“That’s just my work persona,” he assures her. “I’m totally different with Leo. Kinda like a self-imprint, except I don’t have to be brain dead in between dates.”

She smiles fondly at him. “You weirdo.”

He winks in reply, and by then, the wipe is finished. Eros slowly lifts his head from the chair. Time for the script.

“Hello, Eros. How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Did I fall asleep?” Eros replies.

“For a little while.”

A pause. “Shall I go now?”

Guang-Hong nods. “If you’d like.”

Eros gets up and walks towards the door, leaving the two fully-functioning people behind. Guang-Hong leans back in his chair and stretches.

“So, what’s the deal with Eros?” he asks, and Minako whips her head to stare at him, startled.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why did Director Giacometti ask me to delete some of his custom imprints?”

Her eyes narrow. “Which ones did you delete?”

“Uh…” Guang-Hong starts counting off on his fingers. “The custom imprints for Mr. Harmon, Miss Everhart, Mrs. Monroe, and Mr… What’s his name? The guy who likes to pretend Eros is his dead son?”

“Mr. Daisuke,” she says, though she hasn’t lost that suspicious look on her face. “Just those imprints?”

The programmer shrugs. “That’s all he asked for. Did they cancel their payments or something?”

“... I don’t know,” she admits. “But I do know that Christophe is planning something involving Eros and this new client.”

“Ugh,” Guang Hong groans, letting his head drop over the back of his chair. “I worked really hard on those custom imprints, too… But you must be happy. Less clients means less engagements means less work, right?”

Minako offers him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder, but her face is still pensive. “... Right. Well, I’ll see you later, Guang-Hong.”

He watches her turn and leave his lab; he frowns at her retreating form. He doesn’t know Minako all that well - hell, he doesn’t know most of his coworkers all that well - but he does know that she and Director Giacometti are, at the very least, friends. He speculates that they might be more, mostly on the basis that Director Giacometti flirts with her more than anyone else in the facility, and she puts up with it, even flirts back sometimes. Point is, Minako knows him, so she usually knows what he’s up to. Hearing that she was unsure what the Director is planning with Eros was nothing short of a shock.

Guang-Hong taps his finger against his desk. The situation is intriguing, but it’s also not his problem. So long as he can still do his part at the Dollhouse, the whims of their eccentric Director aren’t his concern. 

But…

Last time Director Giacometti focused so much attention on a single Active, it led to trouble. For  _ everyone.  _ Guang-Hong shudders at the memory of it. If the Director wants to cause Pragma 2.0, then  _ that  _ could be a problem. He’ll have to ask Minako to keep him posted.

The door swings open again, so he turns his head to see Lilia and Agape walk in. Agape settles in the chair, face blank as ever, as Lilia hands Guang-Hong the engagement details.

Imprint-AG#8, the son of a wealthy CEO. A bad boy persona with a “heart of gold”. Another romantic wish-fulfillment engagement for a young, bored, and lonely society princess.

Guang-Hong sighs, rolling his shoulders back. He types in the necessary data to summon the imprint from the Archives, and he doesn’t say a word to Lilia as she takes the spot Minako previously occupied. The older handler doesn’t say anything either; she just keeps her impassive eyes on her Active as the fake personality is downloaded onto his brain.

Maybe he’ll see if Leo will let him come over to his place tonight. Guang-Hong could use some de-stressing.

 

* * *

 

_ “Any and all,”   _ Yuuri Katsuki says. Victor presses rewind. He says it again. 

He’d thought that watching Yuuri give his consent would help. It’s not. Because despite the fact that it’s a recording, it almost seems as if the Japanese man is growing more and more distressed. The tears in his eyes keep threatening to spill, but maddeningly, they never do.

Victor sighs. He holds his face in his hands as he stares at his laptop, the screen frozen on the image of Yuuri Katsuki’s distress. The uneasy feeling he felt earlier is back, stronger now. He’d been able to forget it when he was with Haru, but as soon as he’d left the room - Haru slumbering on, blissfully ignorant of Victor’s inner conflict - it had flared up again.

Victor doesn’t know  _ why  _ he feels this way. When he thinks of the other Actives, whose pictures he’d seen while searching for his date that first fateful night, he doesn’t feel this sense of dread. Granted, he hasn’t seen who they were  _ before  _ the Dollhouse, like he has with Eros. But still, why does Yuuri stick in his head? He seems like exactly the sort of person Victor would ignore if they bumped into each other on the street - shy, quiet, entirely ordinary. 

“What did you need?” he finds himself asking his laptop. “What happened to you that you needed the Dollhouse that badly?”

Makkachin pads up to him and rests his head on Victor’s thigh, causing the Russian to startle. He looks down at his poodle and spares him a smile and a pat on the head. 

He closes his laptop with a sigh and gets up, padding to the kitchen to feed Makkachin. Once he finishes that task, he retires to his study, intent on getting at least  _ some  _ work finished, lest Yakov lecture his ear off again. But as he settles in his chair, his cell phone rings, and he checks the caller ID to see one of his coworkers’ names on the screen. 

He answers it. “Georgi.”

“Victor!” comes Georgi’s voice. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Are you still in Barcelona?”

“Just got back. I called to tell you that everything went well with the investors.”

“Good. That will make my grandfather happy, at the very least…”

Georgi chuckles. “Anything I can do to stay out of the war path of the great Anton Nikiforov. Did anything happen at the office while I was away?”

Victor leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he thinks. “Not really,” he says simply, though to be honest, he’s not sure. He doesn’t pay much attention to the social lives of his coworkers. Really, the only people he talks to are Yakov and Georgi. The former is a friend of his family, and he’d only met Georgi recently, after he transferred to the St. Petersburg branch of the company from Moscow. Georgi was persistent in befriending Victor, which normally would’ve thrown him off, but truth be told, it was nice having someone his own age to talk to.

Besides… Georgi had been the one to tell Victor about the Dollhouse in the first place.

“Although, Senator Sokolov’s gala was rather interesting,” he admits. He hears Georgi make an intrigued noise on the other side of the line.

“Oh? Did you take my advice, then?”

“I did… I called the Dollhouse.”

Georgi lets out a delighted laugh. “Aha, I knew you would! Tell me, which Doll did you pick? I’m fond of Ludus, personally.”

Victor barely recalls seeing a file with that name. He thinks Ludus is a woman, but he’s not sure. 

“Eros,” he answers, and he hears Georgi gasp.

“Really? Victor, he’s one of the more expensive ones. And I thought you wanted a woman…?”

“Well.” Victor scratches at his cheek. “The Director was very persuasive. And I must admit, Eros is…” He closes his mouth. 

“Victor?”

“... Ah, no, nevermind. But thank you, Georgi. It was an… interesting experience.”

Georgi is silent for a few moments before he replies. “Think nothing of it, Victor. I merely thought that a man like you could use a bit of fantasy. And that’s what the Dollhouse deals in, after all.”

Victor exhales through his nose. “Fantasy. Right.”

They chat for a few more minutes before Georgi bids him farewell, and Victor hangs up the phone, still staring at the ceiling of his study.

The Dollhouse deals in fantasy. What fantasies did Victor really have? His entire life, he’d known what he was going to do. Go to school, get a business degree, take over the family business. Things like romance and a social life were secondary. Certainly, Victor has his urges, like many men his age, but he’d been able to satisfy them before through the usual routes; picking up strangers and paying normal escort services. 

But the Dollhouse caters to a higher part of society, they promise satisfaction and discretion. And now that Victor’s had a taste of it, he’s finding it increasingly difficult to keep away. No matter his… complicated feelings about Yuuri Katsuki, he doesn’t really know the man. He shouldn’t care. 

The Dollhouse deals in fantasy, and Victor has been denying his own for far too long.

 

* * *

 

Minako has just barely sat down in the armory when her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she lets out an audible groan.

Isabella, one of their youngest handlers, passes by her with a raised brow. “I thought you were supposed to be less busy nowadays.”

“I am,” Minako grumbles, digging in her pocket to pull out her phone. “And the Director seems to think that means he can call me up to his office whenever he feels like it.”

Isabella laughs, peeling off her jacket. She then removes her gun from her shoulder holster and checks the ammo, speaking to Minako as she does. “I don’t get why you won’t just humor him, Minako. Just one date couldn’t be that bad, right?”

The older handler sighs. “I have a strict policy regarding office romances,” she drawls, checking the message on her screen. She blinks at it. “Oh. It’s an engagement.”

Isabella hums, replacing the magazine in her gun with a fresh one. “Then you’d better get your Active and head to the lab. Is it that Nikiforov guy again?”

“Probably,” she huffs. She stands up and replaces her phone in her pocket, then gives her own gun a cursory once-over. She hasn’t fired the thing in ages, since Eros tends to be sent on non-combative and non-lethal assignments. And she’s never gotten a dangerous vibe from Victor Nikiforov, though she’s only really met him once.

Still, it never hurts to be prepared.

She bids Isabella a bland farewell, and walks from the armory to the main facility. Passing by various Dolls, staff members, and handlers milling about, she finally spots Eros sitting on one of the plush, modern sofas. He’s got a picture book on his lap - unsurprising, since the Actives are meant to be unable to read.

But Minako freezes when she sees him all the same. Because sitting right next to him is Agape. The younger Active is smiling dopily, just as Eros is, as they look at the pictures on the page. Agape leans against Minako’s Active, and to anyone else, they might’ve just looked like brothers spending some bonding time together.

But they’re not, and Actives aren’t supposed to  _ bond  _ with each other.

Minako cautiously approaches them. Agape notices her first, the soft smile on his face morphing into a curious frown. Eros looks up soon after him, though he doesn’t lose his smile as he sees Minako’s familiar face. He’s programmed to trust her implicitly, after all.

“Eros,” she begins. “It’s time for your treatment.”

“Ah.” Eros glances down at the book, and Minako does, too. It’s a typical fairytale story, no words, just a picture of a princess in a tower, a knight on a white steed beckoning towards her. Eros stands, handing the book very gently to Agape, who takes it and holds it close to his chest. Eros smiles at him and then turns back to Minako.

Frowning, she doesn’t say anything - what can she say? Eros wouldn’t understand what the problem was. So instead, she takes his arm and leads him to the lab. Guang-Hong is there, as expected, but Christophe is also there, to her surprise.

“Minako,” the Director nods as she and her Active enter the lab. “Eros. Are you ready for your treatment?”

Eros gives a docile smile. “Yes. I like my treatments.”

Christophe gestures to the chair, and Eros goes to sit down.

Minako moves to stand next to him, crossing her arms over her chest. “So. Nikiforov again?”

The Director hums. “Yes. But he’s not asking for Haruhiko this time.”

Guang-Hong leans out of his chair a bit, expression intrigued. “Oh?”

“He wants something a bit different,” says Christophe. He’s got that secretive smile on his face again, and Minako purses her lips. “Use Masaru Amari.”

“Got it.” Guang-Hong turns and starts typing, finding Imprint ER-#9 in the Archives. Seconds later, the chair lights up and Eros twitches wildly as the personality is sent to his brain. 

“Why the change?” Minako finds herself asking aloud. “I thought he liked Haruhiko. Masaru is nearly the complete opposite of him.”

“Classy, sophisticated, and uptight as hell,” snorts Guang-Hong. “I remember. I based him off Lilia.” He pauses. “Please don’t tell her that.”

Christophe chuckles. “We won’t. And to answer your question, Minako, Haruhiko is too easy; he’s an escort, it’s his job to sleep with the client. But Masaru? Mr. Nikiforov will have to work to get him in his bed.”

“What, he actually wants to seduce Masaru?” asks Minako. 

Guang-Hong seems equally confused. “I thought the whole point of this place was to cut out that seduction crap and give the client someone who already loves them.”

Christophe shrugs. “Some people like a challenge. If it doesn’t go well, he won’t ask for Masaru again. It’s as simple as that.”

“If you say so,” says Guang-Hong. Minako stares at Christophe, but the imprinting process is complete, so the Director has his eyes on Eros - or rather, Masaru Amari.

Masaru lifts himself out of the chair, standing beside it with an impatient look. The way he stands, back straight, hand on his waist, looking down his nose at everyone else, Minako has to admit, he does resemble Lilia, if in nothing else but posture.

“Well?” Masaru asks tersely. “You know I detest tardiness. It simply will not stand for me to break my own rules.”

Minako takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly. “Right, right. Follow me, Mr. Amari.”

As she makes her way towards him, Christophe speaks up.

“Have fun on your date, Masaru. I hear this one’s quite handsome.”

Masaru snorts. “Looks aren’t everything. He’ll have to have more than just that to impress me.”

Christophe waves him off as Minako urges him towards the Wardrobe. 

“Here’s to hoping, then,” he says pleasantly.

 

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very happy that you guys have so many questions. Like, no joke, I was super nervous that I was telegraphing all the twists. Hopefully I can keep it up for the rest of the story lmao
> 
> Fair warning, Masaru is basically a tsundere

* * *

 

 

Victor checks his watch as he exits his cab, finding the time to be five till seven. He’s early, but only just.

The front of the restaurant he’s chosen for this engagement looks every inch the five-star joint it’s reputed to be. And Victor fits right in, with his bespoke suit and expensive watch. Briefly, he wonders how Eros will look the part, but he knows he’ll find out soon enough.

He approaches the maitre’d and gives his name; moments later, he is being led through the restaurant to his table, and soon enough, he spots Eros waiting for him. Or rather, he spots Masaru Amari waiting for him.

He’s noticeably different from Haru already. Whereas Haru is languid and almost always smirking, Masaru sits stiffly but regally, reminding Victor of a prince. He wears a suit not unlike Victor’s, clearly bespoke, and his hair is slicked back in a neat coiffure. His expression is almost a pout, which is amusing to see on his otherwise sophisticated persona.

Victor walks up to the table, catching Masaru’s attention. He gives him his best charming smile and holds out his hand.

“Masaru Amari, yes?”

Masaru looks at Victor’s hand, then Victor’s face, an eyebrow raised in obvious disdain. Still, he shakes the proffered hand and nods.

“Yes. And you’re Victor Nikiforov.”

He doesn’t say it like a question - he says it with all the surety that the man now sliding into the seat across from him is, in fact, Victor. His accent is different in this imprint. Less distinctly Japanese, more… British?

“I am,” answers Victor, still smiling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Masaru tilts his head down in what Victor assumes is meant to be a nod. “Hm.”

Their waiter comes by and brings them each a menu, which ceases the budding conversation for a moment. As he leaves, Victor glances up at his date, finding him browsing the menu with an almost bored expression. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Masaru beats him to it.

“You should know, I don’t do this sort of thing very often.”

Victor blinks. “‘This sort of thing’?”

“Internet dating,” Masaru waves his hand dismissively. “Honestly, I find the idea of it crass.”

A beat passes, and suddenly Victor remembers what he’s talking about. Internet dating. Right. That was the excuse Director Giacometti had suggested for how Victor and Masaru met. It’s a bit absurd, and more than a little cliche, so Victor tries his best to hold in a chuckle.

“Oh? Then tell me, how did you end up on a date with someone you met online?”

Masaru sighs, annoyance clear on his face. “My older siblings. They set up the account for me, I didn’t do a thing.”

Victor leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he smirks with amusement. “Don’t tell me they made everything up on your profile.”

“Of course not,” Masaru bristles. “They’re nosy, but they’re not liars.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Victor holds up his hands to show he means no offense, still smiling all the while. Masaru is so much more irritable than Haruhiko. This will be fun.

“Anyway, what about you?” Masaru asks. “You don’t strike me as the type who normally gets his dates online.”

“Very astute,” says Victor. “No, I just signed up for the service. By myself, no nosy siblings to speak of.”

“Why?” he persists, and Victor pauses. When he finally answers, his expression is a touch more subdued.

“I suppose I was just lonely.”

Silence reigns between them for a few moments. Masaru looks contemplative, but before he can say anything more, Victor perks up.

“Ah, there’s the waiter. Have you decided what you want? I’m paying.”

Masaru looks alarmed now. “There’s no need for that, I’m perfectly capable of - !”

“Oh, I know,” Victor winks. “But it’s what a good date does, _da_? And I beat you to it, so no complaining.”

The Japanese man stares at him as he flags the waiter down. Victor gives his order, then glances at Masaru, indicating for him to do the same. As he speaks, Victor notices a faint trace of pink on the man’s cheeks, and he smiles to himself. Perfect.

Throughout dinner, they chat more, and Masaru slowly starts to thaw. It’s interesting, Victor observes, hearing the man talk so easily about his life, when he knows for a fact that it’s all a fabrication. Of course, it’s entirely possible that the people he’s describing - his upper-class parents, his nosy three siblings, the people he went to college with - might have really existed. They may have even been based on real people. But the fact of the matter is, Masaru Amari is not a real person.

For tonight, he’s Victor’s plaything, and nothing more.

When dinner ends, Victor swipes the check before Masaru can even lay eyes on it, and like a gentleman, he pays for everything. He doesn’t know if Actives even get bank accounts for when they go on engagements, but Victor tends to pay for his dates anyway. He’s got the money, after all.

He and Masaru walk out of the restaurant, the latter still keeping his distance, but Victor’s smile stays affixed on his face nonetheless. When they reach the side of the road, cars whipping past them in the busy way that city cars always do, Masaru turns to face him, his cheeks a definitive shade of red.

“W-Well, I’ll admit, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

Victor’s grin widens. “Internet dating is not so bad, is it? I will have to thank your siblings for the wonderful company.”

Masaru’s blush turns even darker and he looks away, brows furrowed. “The date is over, you can stop with the flattery.”

“Flattery? Me? Never. I simply tell the truth.” Victor steps forward, towering over Masaru by a good few inches. He brushes his fingers across Masaru’s warmed cheeks; the shorter man looks up at him, eyes wide. “Now, the night is still young. I have some very good Dom Perignon back at my apartment, if you would like a taste?”

Masaru visibly tenses, his shoulders rising with trepidation, but Victor is close enough to see how his pupils dilate, how his lips part ever so slightly, and how the dusky red of his cheeks spreads to his ears.

“I…” Masaru’s tongue darts out to wet his lips - Victor watches it hungrily. “I suppose one glass couldn’t hurt… A-As long as that’s all you’re inviting me over for.”

He gives Victor a stern look that fails due to his blush, which is why Victor chuckles.

“That’s my intention. But we will see how things go, no?”

Masaru scoffs. “You sound awfully confident.”

Victor’s car pulls up then, the valet getting out and tossing Victor his keys. The Russian gives Masaru a sweet smile and opens the passenger side door for him.

“I always am,” he says. Masaru eyes him critically for a few seconds before he sighs and moves to get into the car.

Victor closes the door and walks around to get into the driver’s seat. Masaru is already buckled up and staring resolutely out the window, as if he’s refusing to meet Victor’s eyes.

It makes him smile again, and he wastes no further time in starting up the car and driving to his apartment.

 

* * *

 

“Agape.”

Agape’s gaze flickers up to see Lilia - that was her name, right? - standing above him, her expression as stern as ever. His own face is impassive, dull. He blinks at her in lieu of replying to his name.

She sighs. “Agape. It’s time for bed.”

The blond shakes his head. “I’m waiting for Eros.”

That makes her purse her lips. Agape doesn’t know that expression, but it doesn’t look friendly. She never looks friendly.

“Eros will not be back tonight, Agape. Go to bed, you will see him tomorrow.”

Frowning, Agape’s grip tightens on his book. The book Eros picked out. He said it was his favorite. “I’m waiting for him,” he repeats.

Lilia’s gaze sharpens, but as she opens her mouth to say something that would probably make Agape flinch, a man walks up to them. He looks familiar; Agape thinks he’s seen him around before, but they’ve never spoken.

“Lilia,” the man greets with a big smile. “Agape. Is there something wrong? It’s bedtime.”

Lilia turns to face the man. “Director Giacometti. Agape is refusing to go to his pod.”

The man, whose name is Director Giacometti apparently, tilts his head to look at Agape, who tenses under his gaze.

“Oh? And why is that, Agape?”

Agape raises his chin. “I’m waiting for Eros,” he says for the third time. “We’re reading this book together. We didn’t finish.”

Oddly, Director Giacometti’s smile softens. “Is that so? Well, Agape, you should know that Eros will be gone all night. But you can see him in the morning. If you go to bed, you’ll wake up and he’ll be right here.”

Furiously, Agape shakes his head. “No. I’m going to wait.”

Director Giacometti chuckles. “My, aren’t you stubborn.” Lilia looks angry beside him, but Director Giacometti steps forward and kneels in front of Agape. His hands hover close to the book, and instinctively, Agape pulls it against his chest, out of his reach. Director Giacometti looks up at him. “Is this the book?”

Agape nods. “It’s his favorite.”

“I see. How about this, Agape?” Director Giacometti moves his hand to rest on Agape’s shoulder. “I’ll let you take the book to your pod. You can hold onto it until Eros comes back.”

Lilia looks alarmed, but Agape’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Really?” he asks, voice soft.

“Really,” smiles Director Giacometti. He stands up and offers his hand to Agape. “I’ll walk you to your pod.”

Agape stares at him for a moment before he reaches up, sliding his hand into Director Giacometti’s. He lets the older man pull him off the couch and lead him through the halls of the facility, until they reach the wing that contains the sleep chambers. The others are already in their pods, sleeping peacefully. In Agape’s room, three of the five pods, which are embedded in the floor, are closed, blurry, human-shaped figures resting inside. Two remain open - Agape and Eros’s.

Director Giacometti helps Agape lower himself into his pod. As the blond settles, still clutching the book to his chest, he looks up and sees Director Giacometti and Lilia staring back down at him. Lilia’s face is odd - her mouth is twisted in a frown, but her eyebrows are drawn up. She doesn’t look angry. Director Giacometti, meanwhile, offers Agape another smile.

“Eros will be back tomorrow?” Agape asks, his eyelids already drooping closed.

“I promise,” says Director Giacometti. “Goodnight, Agape.”

The lid to the pod begins to slide over him, slowly removing the two adults from his line of sight. Soon, they are just blurred forms, still standing above him.

As Agape begins to feel himself falling asleep, he hears them talking.

“This isn’t right, Director,” says Lilia.

“There’s no harm in it,” he replies.

“And what happens when Eros leaves for good? He’s got one year left on his contract. What will Agape do then?”

There’s a pause. “Then we scrub his mind. Make him forget. But for now, let him have a friend.”

“The Chairman wouldn’t approve.”

“Let me worry about him, Lilia. Just make sure Agape is happy. That _is_ your job.”

“Incorrigible man.”

Their voices are fading - they’re walking away, Agape realizes. The pull of sleep is too strong, and his breathing evens out as he drifts off, but one thought is crystal clear in his head.

_Eros is going to leave for good?_

 

* * *

 

Not even a minute after Victor lets Masaru into his apartment, they hear the click-clack of paws against hardwood floors, and Makkachin appears around the corner, bounding towards Victor at full speed.

“Makka!” Victor greets him, at the same time Masaru asks, “You have a dog?”, but neither are answered as Makkachin tackles Masaru, sending him to the floor in a disgruntled heap. Victor stares as his poodle barks and licks Masaru’s face, while the Japanese man yelps in surprise. He suddenly snaps out of it and kneels to grab Makkachin, pulling him off his date while apologizing.

“I’m so sorry, he’s not usually like this!”

Makkachin wriggles in his grip as Masaru sits up. He looks dazed, blinking at the dog in shock.

“I… I-It’s okay…”

“What’s gotten into you?” Victor asks his dog, but Makkachin is still trying to get to Masaru. “I guess it’s been awhile since I’ve had someone over,” he says to Masaru, sheepish. “He gets lonely.”

Masaru blinks one more time before his features settle into a more neutral expression. “Maybe you should get another dog,” he replies. He stands up and brushes himself off, and then wipes at his face to clear it of dog spit. To his credit, he doesn’t look disgusted. Just ruffled.

Victor stands, though he has to maintain his grip on his wriggly dog, and shoots Masaru a smile. “I’ll put him in my room. Just a minute.”

As he starts to led a whining Makkachin away, Masaru steps forward.

“W-Wait.”

Victor glances at him.

“He… He can stay. He doesn’t bother me. Really.” Masaru fidgets as he speaks, sneaking looks at the dog, and suddenly Victor beams, as understanding dawns on him.

“Soft spot for dogs?” he asks teasingly. He delights in Masaru’s resulting blush and angry scowl.

“Shut up and let the poodle stay.”

Victor straightens his back, releasing Makkachin. The poodle immediately darts to Masaru’s side, and the shorter man has a soft smile on his face as he bends down to scratch behind his ears. Victor observes them for a moment.

They make a lovely image. Masaru has never looked softer - granted, he’s only known Masaru for about two hours, but it’s a startlingly apparent difference.

Still, he must have been staring too long, because Masaru tears his eyes from Makkachin to look at Victor. The smile is still there, but it’s more amused now.

“The Dom Perignon?” he says, and Victor jolts.

“Ah - yes, of course, hold on…”

He hurries to the kitchen, face flushed, and quickly locates the bottle of champagne. When he looks back out, he sees Masaru settling himself on the couch in the living room, and Makkachin quickly hops up to settle on his lap.

“Is it okay if he’s on the couch?” asks Masaru, though he’s already running his hands through Makkachin’s fur.

Victor bites back another grin. “It’s fine. You wouldn’t be able to tell him no anyway. He’s stubborn.”

He grabs two glasses and pours the champagne in each, then walks back out to the living room. He hands a glass to Masaru, who accepts it with a coy smile, and he sits beside him. He sits as close as he can, his knee touching Masaru’s, though the other man doesn’t seem to notice, as engrossed with Victor’s dog as he is.

“How long have you had him?” he asks, catching Victor off-guard.

“Hm? Oh, almost twelve years, now. I got him when I was fourteen. A gift from my parents.”

Masaru hums, sipping his champagne and scratching under Makkachin’s chin simultaneously. “Birthday gift?”

“And Christmas,” Victor smiles at the memory. “It’s the same day for me.”

Masaru’s lips quirk up. “That must make shopping very easy for your parents, then.”

“I suppose it must have.” Victor stares into his glass. Masaru looks at him, confused.

“Victor…? Oh.” Suddenly his eyes are wide. “Oh, I’m so sorry… When did they…?”

“I was seventeen. Car accident,” he says dully. He almost startles when he feels a hand settle on his thigh, and he turns to see Masaru looking at him with - he wants to say pity, but that’s not it. He looks sad, certainly, but he’s not pitying Victor. He finds himself grateful for that.

“I’m sorry,” says Masaru. “That couldn’t have been easy…”

Victor shrugs. “It was a long time ago. And I had my grandparents. They took Makkachin and I in.”

“Still…” Masaru glances down. “I can’t imagine what that’s like. Losing people so close to you…”

Victor smiles. “You’re much nicer than you look, you know?”

Masaru blinks, his gaze snapping back up. “W-What?”

“You seemed so distant, before,” explains Victor. “It’s good to see that you have a soft side. It’s cute.”

Wonderfully, Masaru’s face flushes pink. He pulls his hand back as if he’s been burned. “S-Shut up! Who says stuff like that?”

Makkachin grunts softly, and the Japanese man turns his attention back to his dog. But Victor still sees his flustered expression, and with a shark-like grin, he scoots closer.

“Someone who likes you very much, Masaru,” he murmurs. Masaru blushes even darker, but doesn’t meet Victor’s eyes.

Victor sets his glass down on the coffee table and moves even closer. His arm is now around  Masaru’s shoulders, and his other hand rests on his knee. “Don’t you like me?” he asks, his voice purposefully low.

“I…” Masaru swallows nervously. “I don’t know… I hardly know you.”

“Then, will you let me convince you?”

Victor is mere inches from Masaru’s face; he can practically feel the heat emanating from the shorter man’s cheeks. His eyes are wide, slightly panicked. But there’s also, Victor notes smugly, a note of intrigue in those russet brown depths.

“H-How would you… How would you do that?”

Victor lifts his hand from Masaru’s knee and uses it to cradle his face. His thumb brushes softly across his cheekbone.

“Let me kiss you.”

Masaru’s breath hitches. “O-Okay.”

Smiling, Victor moves forward those last few inches and closes his lips over Masaru’s. He feels the man tense up, but Victor just presses insistently back. He swipes his tongue across Masaru’s bottom lip, earning both a gasp and entrance into his mouth. Masaru groans helplessly as Victor licks into him. Victor watches as Masaru’s eyes slip closed, and he smiles against his lips.

It’s just like kissing Haru, but different, too. Haru was a willing participant, someone who knew exactly what to do; he kissed with the intent of seduction. Masaru, on the other hand, seems like he’s never been kissed in his life. He’s hesitant and shy, making soft little whimpers and gasps.

Victor breaks the kiss, but only so that he can begin mouthing against Masaru’s jaw. Masaru bites back a moan as Victor licks a hot stripe against his throat, then gasps when Victor nips at his adam’s apple.

“T-This,” Masaru struggles, “this is more than a kiss, V-Victor…”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, hot breath ghosting over Masaru’s skin.

“I…”

Victor lifts his head to see Masaru’s face. When he does, he’s met with an erotic sight - Masaru’s cheeks are heavily tinted, his eyelids half-closed over eyes that are more pupil than iris, and his lips are pink and wet with Victor’s spit. He looks halfway wrecked already.

Without awaiting the rest of Masaru’s reply, he plucks the forgotten glass of expensive champagne from the Japanese man’s fingers, sets it next to his own on the table, and swiftly kisses him again. Masaru whimpers into his mouth, but Victor feels hands grip his shoulders mere seconds later, so he knows that he isn’t protesting this turn of events.

The sound of their kissing is taking up the otherwise silent apartment. When Masaru begins to kiss back, however shyly, it becomes wet and almost filthy, and combined with his other soft noises, it all goes straight to Victor’s cock. He wonders if Masaru is the same in bed - sweet and virginal.

Well, he thinks to himself, he’s going to find out soon.

Just as he thinks that, however, Victor feels something cold and wet press against the underside of his chin, and he jerks back, surprised. Suddenly, instead of Masaru’s adorable face, he’s met with Makkachin’s. The dog’s tongue is lolling out as he wiggles his way through, using his cold, wet nose to burrow into the tiny space between their bodies. Truth be told, Victor had forgotten he was there at all.

Masaru looks just as surprised as he feels. But then the Japanese man is laughing, the sound joyous and pleasant. Victor’s shock and disappointment momentarily subsides in favor of watching the angel of a man in front of him.

“What’s so funny?” he asks eventually.

“Y-Your dog,” Masaru wheezes. “Your dog just cockblocked you!”

Makkachin yips happily, as if in agreement. Victor groans.

“Makka! Bad dog!” he chides lightly.

“No, good dog, Makka,” coos Masaru, giving Makkachin a pat on the head. “Very good dog.”

“What?” Victor pouts. “Weren’t you enjoying yourself?”

Masaru chuckles. “I was… but I’m not the type of person who puts out on the first date, Victor.”

Victor raises an eyebrow. “It didn’t seem that way to me.”

“Well.” Masaru shrugs innocently. “There _is_ something different about you… But if you want it that badly, you’ll have to try harder next time.”

At that, Victor finds himself surprised yet again. “You want there to be a next time?”

“Why not?”

Victor stares at him, bemused. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as straight-forward as he’d imagined… And yet, he doesn’t find himself disappointed. He feels a smile tug at his lips.

“Alright. Next time, then.”

Masaru swipes his glass back from the table and sends Victor a flirty look - for a moment, he seems like Haruhiko. “If you’re lucky,” he quips.

They end up finishing their glasses, and then Masaru is on his way out (though not before showering Makkachin with affection; Victor is starting to think his dog likes the Active better than him, the traitor). Just before he pulls open the door to Victor’s apartment, Victor grabs him and turns him around, pressing their lips together again.

Masaru gasps, but melts much more easily into the kiss this time. His fingers tangle in Victor’s hair, and Victor’s own hands wander down to Masaru’s waist. Unfortunately, Masaru suddenly pushes against him, so he doesn’t get to cop a feel. Instead, he feels Masaru’s finger press against his lips, like he’s hushing Victor.

Masaru smirks. “Nice try.”

Victor laughs as Masaru lowers his hand. “It was worth a shot.”

“Next time,” Masaru says, and it sounds both like a challenge and a promise. He walks out moments later, leaving Victor in his apartment, alone, save for his poodle, who now sits quietly at the still-open door. Makkachin looks sad. Victor absently pets his dog and watches as Masaru makes his way to the street below, presumably to hail a cab. But as he reaches the sidewalk, Victor spots his handler saunter up to him. They speak for a moment, then Masaru is following her to a black van that he knows belongs to the Dollhouse.

Satisfied, he closes the door and turns, heading for his bedroom. Makkachin whimpers pitifully as he trails behind him.

“He’ll be back, don’t worry,” he says to his dog. He smiles softly to himself as he says it.

“He’ll be back…”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: this was going to solely be the Victor/Masaru date, but I thought of that bit with Agape and put it in after the chapter was already done.
> 
> And just in case you guys wanted to see what the facility looks like in the Dollhouse TV series...  
> [The Main Hall](http://www.whedon.info/IMG/jpg/dollhouse-tv-series-set-photos-mq-05.jpg)  
> [Sleeping Chambers](http://leonardharman.com/FILM/IMAGES/DollSleep1.jpg)  
> [The Chair](https://www.wired.com/images_blogs/photos/uncategorized/2009/02/09/eliza3shot660.jpg)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs hand down face* Victor why are you so hard to write in this 'verse ohmygod

* * *

 

Haru flops onto his back, languid and boneless, seeping into the soft material of the hotel mattress as he tries to catch his breath. Above him, Victor moves to curl around his side, pressing feather-light kisses to his jaw. Haru can just barely feel the Russian’s smile against his skin, and he laughs softly.

“Am I forgiven?” asks Victor, in a teasing tone of voice.

“I’m not sure yet,” replies Haru, however breathlessly. Victor’s really tired him out this time around. He’s not sure he can make it to his next appointment. “But you’re well on your way.”

Victor lifts his head, allowing Haru to see those beautiful bright blue eyes. His client smiles gently down at him for a moment before leaning in and brushing his lips against Haru’s temple. The gesture is so intimate it makes Haru shiver.

“It won’t happen again,” murmurs Victor. “I promise,  _ zvyozdochka.”  _

“It better not,” Haru says, trying desperately not to grin. He fails. “Disappearing the morning after is  _ my  _ thing, after all.”

“And yet you’ve never done it with me,” muses Victor. “How interesting.”

“Well,” Haru sniffs indifferently. “It’s never too late. Maybe I’m just waiting for you to fall asleep so I can step out later.”

Victor chuckles. “As much as I’m sure I deserve it,” he drawls, “I’m afraid I must get going. It’s early, after all, and I have a meeting to get to.”

Haru raises an eyebrow, confused, as Victor rolls out of the bed and begins gathering up his clothes. “You called me hours before you had a meeting?”

“I missed you,” Victor says simply, like that’s not a big deal, but it makes Haru feel light-headed and giddy. 

“Oh. Well.” Haru sits up and watches as his client redresses, already missing the sight of his bare, toned skin. He chews absently on his bottom lip. “Any idea when you’ll be missing me again?”

Victor finishes pulling on his jacket and grins at Haru. “Oh, it shouldn’t be long. I’ll see you again soon,  _ da?” _

He leans across the bed to give Haru a kiss, which the escort gladly provides. Their lips connect for a pitifully brief time before Victor steps back, still smiling. And then, just like that, he bids Haru farewell and disappears out the door. Haru is left all alone in the fancy hotel room that Victor had rented, completely naked, sweaty, and full of Victor’s come.

He stares at the door for a long while before he sighs to himself. Forcing his aching muscles to cooperate, he gets out of bed and stumbles into the shower - because even if Victor’s left, he can still make good use of the room before he has to go, too - and cleans himself up. Once he’s done, he dries off and redresses, giving the room one last look over before walking out the door.

The hotel lobby is less impressive the second time around, but before Haru can make it out, a woman in a pencil skirt and a black blouse walks up to him.

“Hello Eros,” she says pleasantly. “Would you like a treatment?”

Immediately, Haru feels his body go lax. “Yes,” he says in reply. “I like my treatments.”

He follows the woman out of the lobby to the street, where a black van is parked by the sidewalk. She opens the door for him and he obligingly enters, settling onto the plush leather seats inside and watching as she clambers in after him.

The van begins to drive, and Haru is lost in his thoughts for a while before the woman speaks up again.

“You’re quiet today,” she observes. “Was Nikiforov not as good this time around?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “If anything he was… Well, he’s never a disappointment.”

As Haru sighs dreamily, the woman cocks her head to the side, an amused grin on her face.

“Handsome, rich, good in the sack… Is he really that great?” she asks.

“He’s amazing!” is Haru’s fervent reply. The woman blinks at him, but he continues before she can open her mouth to speak. “It’s not just his looks or his money or how many times he can make me come in an hour - which is a  _ lot,  _ by the way - but he’s just so… considerate! And funny, and charming, and…”

Haru trails off, a soft smile gracing his features. He’s acutely aware of the woman, who is now staring wide-eyed at him, but he finds himself shockingly uncaring of whatever it is she’s thinking. 

“With Victor, it feels…” he mumbles, mostly to himself. “It feels like the real thing, you know?”

The woman doesn’t say anything, and Haru is grateful for that. He’s still figuring out this whole thing with Victor himself; he doesn’t need a third party butting in to voice their opinion, no matter how trustworthy she may seem.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, many miles away, Victor strolls into a large meeting room of the thirtieth floor of his company’s building. At the elongated table, two dozen executives in expensive suits and boring haircuts look up as he walks in, but Victor keeps his lazy gaze trained on the man at the head of the table.

He’s got a long face and severe features, as someone in their early seventies tends to, but if you looked closely, you could easily see the resemblance. Though Victor had gotten most of his appearance from his mother, he had his grandfather’s nose and jawline. Currently, that jawline was tight, clenched in clear disapproval. Beady dark green eyes followed Victor as he nonchalantly made his way over to his chair - which was to the left of the man - and sat down.

Victor sends a wink to Yakov, who sits across from him at his grandfather’s right side, and the older man merely scowls in exasperation.

“Victor,” Anton Nikiforov’s voice rumbles. “So glad you deigned to grace us with your presence.”

Victor shrugs and gives the room his best charmer’s smile. It worked for most of them, but Yakov and Anton were unswayed.

Anton glares at his grandson for all of a minute before he looks away with an expression that matches Yakov’s, and calls for the meeting to start. Victor smirks victoriously, sinking further into his chair. 

His grandfather would let him get away with just about anything, so long as he actually showed up for work. 

The meeting drags on for almost two hours, and Victor considers it a win that he isn’t asleep by the end of it - it’s nothing new, anyway. Budget reports, sales estimates, proposals on how to save money and get more investors for the next business quarter. Victor understands it all, of course, but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t find it horribly dull. 

His grandfather, meanwhile, listens to everything with a focused look on his aged face, his eyes sharp and clear. He looks every inch a powerful and wealthy CEO, Victor thinks, and he finds himself wondering if he’ll look like that one day. Probably, given that his grandfather has been grooming him to take over ever since Victor came to live with him and  _ babushka.  _ It’d be a great disappointment if Victor doesn’t turn out exactly how he’d planned.

Victor drums his fingers absently on the meeting table, half-listening to their Director of Sales drone on, and his mind begins to wander. First, he thinks of that morning’s little detour with Haruhiko; to be perfectly honest, he hadn’t planned on calling that particular imprint for a while, given that he’s focusing his efforts on Masaru, but he’d been horny and impatient and thus called up the Director, who quite cheerfully agreed to the quick engagement. 

It was well worth it, Victor decides, a smile curling onto his lips. He’d almost forgotten how  _ good  _ Haruhiko was. So responsive and wanton… At this point, he’s worried that Masaru might be a let down compared to his slutty counterpart. But then again, muses the Russian, he’s fairly certain that all of Eros’s imprints are good in bed. If not because they were programmed to be, then because Eros is just so gorgeous that experience is a secondary thing.

He’s startled out of his thoughts as Anton adjourns the meeting, and people begin to slowly file out of the room. Soon, Victor is left with Anto and Yakov. He has no desire to talk with them right now, given their constant disapproving glances, but as soon as Victor moves to stand, his grandfather speaks.

“Vitenka,” he starts, and inwardly, Victor grimaces. He’s only ever called that when his grandfather is about to scold him. It used to be said with affection, primarily by  _ babushka,  _ but ever since she passed he’s only ever heard it in Anton’s cruel, gruff voice. 

Not that he doesn’t love Anton, of course, but _babushka_ was always better at showing her love.

“Yes, _D_ _ edushka?”   _ Victor asks, plastering a bland smile on his face. 

Anton isn’t swayed. “You were distracted,” he points out, eyes narrowing. “And your reports came in late last week.”

Victor pretends to examine his fingernails. “And? I got them in, didn’t I?”

“I’m just worried that you might be slacking off,” the old man grunts. “I’ve told you, countless times - !”

“Focus on the company, and only the company,” finishes Victor, who barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. “ _ Da, Dedushka,  _ I know. I’m not slacking.”

“Really?” Anton looks to Yakov. “Is that true?”

Yakov glances over at Victor for a moment. “From what I’ve seen… yes. Victor’s been working as diligently as he always has.”

Victor blinks in surprise. He hadn’t expected Yakov to vouch for him like that. 

Apparently, neither did Anton. He sends his close friend a suspicious look. “You’re certain?”

“Yes,” Yakov nods. “Though, to be fair, it isn’t as if Victor works all that diligently to begin with.”

Victor snaps out of his daze and makes a face at Yakov - good-naturedly of course. “Yakov, you’re so mean. I work very hard.”

Anton hums to himself as Yakov gives Victor a flat, distinctly unimpressed look. 

“Very well then. See to it that you keep up this… diligence, Vitenka. The future of Aelita depends on it.”

Victor looks at his grandfather. “Of course. Have I ever disappointed you,  _ Dedushka?”  _

Anton gives a small smile at that and stands up. “ _ Nyet,  _ Victor. But don’t take that as an invitation to try.”

He gives each of the men a nod, then strides out of the room with practiced grace. Victor, in a moment of sudden childishness, sticks his tongue out at the back of his grandfather, and Yakov catches him.

“Oh, stop it,” he says gruffly. “You’re lucky I didn’t side with Anton.”

Victor huffs out a laugh, but obediently straightens his expression out. “Why didn’t you? You were giving me the same lecture not too long ago.”

“I know this might be hard for you to believe, but I was once your age, Victor.”

“ _ No.  _ You’re telling me you weren’t born old and ornery?”

“Victor.”

“Sorry. Continue.”

Yakov sighs, running a hand down his face. “What I’m trying to say here is, I get it. You’re a young man, not even thirty, with the weight on an entire company on your shoulders. Of course you want to let off some steam, get distracted every once in awhile.” He fixes his stern eyes on the younger man. “I take it you’ve been seeing that not-prostitute again?”

Victor freezes. “... How did you know?”

“Call it an educated guess. I won’t try and talk some sense into you, because god knows you’re not going to listen to me anyway, but… Just tell me, is it serious?”

Victor stares at Yakov’s intense gaze, and shifts uncomfortably, though he doesn’t let it show on his face. 

“Of course it isn’t. I’m just having a little fun, Yakov.”

“And does  _ he  _ know that?”

“...”

“Right,” Yakov sighs again. He moves towards the door, Victor eyes trained on his every movement. Just before he steps out, he turns back to the younger man with a rueful smile. “Don’t be cruel, Victor. Just because you’re in the cutthroat world of business doesn’t mean it should bleed into your personal life.”

“Yakov?”

“I don’t know this man, whoever he is, but I doubt he deserves to have his heart broken. Be gentle when you end it.”

Yakov exits, leaving Victor alone in the empty meeting room.

He stares at the door for five minutes before he, too, finally leaves.

 

* * *

 

Christophe’s arrival to the art room is met with the smell of paint and paper, and only the room’s supervisor looks up to see him. All the others, Actives, remain focused on their work.

“Director,” says the supervisor. “Did you need an Active?”

“No, no,” Christophe shakes his head. “I’m merely observing today.”

The supervisor watches him for a few seconds before nodding. He then moves to walk around the room to keep an eye on the Actives, and Christophe lets his gaze slide over to two Actives in particular.

Agape and Eros, as expected, are sitting right next to each other, even though the stations are spaced evenly a few feet apart. Agape has abandoned his own station in favor of sitting next to Eros as the older Active paints. Christophe grins at the sight.

Agape had been so sullen and angry when he first showed up at the Dollhouse. Now, he’s almost adorable, gazing at Eros with round, bright eyes. And Eros, who was distant and cut off, even for an Active in ‘tabula rasa’, welcomes Agape’s company like an elder brother taking care of a sibling.

Christophe walks towards them, passing by the other Actives as he does so. They’re painting benign pictures, things like trees and flowers and birds. Many of them aren’t too good, as they all have the same base level of skill when in ‘tabula rasa’. They look like children’s drawings.

He spots an unfinished depiction of the ocean at Agape’s station, half of the page blue. It seems like Agape stopped abruptly, probably to watch Eros instead. Two small cans of paint, dark blue and sandy yellow, sit unopened next to Agape’s painting, though curiously, the bright blue which is obviously on the page is missing.

When Christophe finally makes it to Eros’s station, he realizes where the bright blue paint has gone. It sits on Eros’s desk, along with several unopened cans of the same color.

He’s amused. “Do you need that much blue, Eros?”

The both startle and look to see him standing behind them. Eros blinks curiously, though Agape opens his mouth first.

“He likes that color,” he says, almost proudly. Christophe infers that Agape was probably the one who brought the extra cans to Eros.

“Is that so?” he smiles. He peers over them to see what Eros is painting, and…

Oh.

It’s a dark shape, the brush strokes creating what seems to be the silhouette of a man; he almost appears to be reaching out of the page. But Christophe is drawn to the man’s face - or lack thereof - where Eros has carefully placed two spots of bright blue. They’re eyes, he realizes. And then he remembers someone with eyes that exact shade of blue.

“That’s very lovely, Eros,” he comments lightly, though on the inside, he’s giddy with excitement. 

Eros beams at the praise. “Thank you. Agape helped. He brought me paint.”

Agape nods. “I helped,” he repeats.

“Very good, the both of you. Eros?”

“Yes?”

“May I have that painting?” he asks. “When you’re done with it, of course.”

Eros frowns, looking in clear confusion from Christophe to his painting, and then back again. Christophe continues to smile pleasantly, and it comforts Eros, so he nods, picking up the paper and handing it to him.

“It’s done.”

Christophe gingerly takes the picture. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”

Eros smiles softly. “That’s good.” Then he turns back to Agape. “Let’s do another, okay?”

Christophe turns to leave just as Agape agrees, and makes his way out of the art room. He holds onto the picture as if it’s the Mona Lisa, and his smile turns into an excited grin when no one else can see him. 

He’s getting closer. This is so much easier than he imagined.

 

* * *

 

Minako huffs, her breath materializing before her in a white puff of mist as she tugs her jacket closer around herself. Russia is fucking freezing, even in the fall. She’s only just left the comfortable warmth of the van, and already she feels like her feet are numb. 

Across the street, she sees a theatre, which advertises a performance by the Bolshoi Ballet. She feels a pang of longing but quickly quashes it down, as two familiar figures trail out of the theatre, along with a throng of other people Minako couldn’t care less about.

Victor is holding Masaru Amari gently around the waist, whispering something into her Active’s ear that makes him blush and pout. She can’t hear it, since they don’t listen in on engagements to protect their client’s privacy, but she imagines he’s just said something lewd to tease the uptight Masaru.

It’s quite clear that Masaru is still a virgin - as far as he knows - and honestly, she’s surprised by that. Victor is treating the imprint like an actual boyfriend. This is their fourth date, and according to Masaru, he’s made no move after the first night to have sex with him. Masaru claims that he’s making Victor work for it, but Minako can see clear as day that it’s Victor leading the dance, not the other way around.

Still, as long as the client is happy…

She watches as a fancy car pulls up to the pair, and Victor leans down to give Masaru a parting kiss. It’s far more sensual than she thinks Masaru would be comfortable with, but when they break apart, Masaru is gazing at Victor like a man truly enamored. Minako can’t see Victor’s face, so she doesn’t know if he looks the same way, but however he looks must convince Masaru, who gives Victor a hug before stepping back to let the Russian climb into his car. 

He watches the car drive off into the night, and he stands in place, almost looking wistful. Minako lets him be for a few moments, then walks over to him and says her line. Soon, he following her back to the van, and she lets out a sigh of relief as the warmth of the vehicle washes over them.

During the drive back, she glances at Masaru and is stunned to see his expression. His eyes are soft, and so is the smile on his face. He still looks utterly in love.

Masaru Amari is supposed to be based off Lilia Baranovskaya, one of the hardest women Minako’s ever met. Yet, she can’t ever recall seeing Lilia with such an expression - she can’t even  _ imagine  _ it. She knows that Lilia has mentioned being married once before, but even then, the idea of her fellow handler looking as infatuated as Masaru seems to be just seems  _ wrong. _

“Did you have a nice time?” she finds herself asking. 

Masaru startles, as if he’s forgotten where he was. “What?”

“With Victor,” she clarifies. “Did you have fun?”

He stares at her, his expression slowly normalizing. “Yes. He took me to see  _ Onegin.  _ It’s such a lovely ballet. Bittersweet, but lovely.”

“It is,” agrees Minako. She should know, she’d been Tatiana once.

“Victor admitted that he wasn’t really one for ballet,” continues Masaru, “but he knew I loved it and bought the tickets two weeks ago.”

“That was sweet of him.”

“He can act as salacious as he wants, but I think deep down, he’s really a romantic.”

“He certainly seems to like you,” says Minako. “Do you… feel the same way?”

Masaru smiles again, though it’s a small, almost shy thing. “I… I think I do. Something about him just stands out, you know?”

Minako hums. “Not really.”

“I mean,” Masaru begins to fluster. “I know he’s not really my type. Overconfident and an enormous flirt… But I feel like…” He turns his head away, obviously embarrassed by whatever is about to come out of his mouth next. “With Victor, it’s starting to feel like the real thing…”

Minako’s entire body goes cold. She stares in shock at the blushing Active, who notices her and immediately scowls.

“W-What? Don’t look at me like that.”

She can only mumble a small apology, and the rest of the ride continues in silence. But on the inside, Minako’s mind is racing. 

What were the chances of two different imprints using the exact same phrase… and about the exact same person? Something is happening to her Active, and she needs to figure out what.

Once they get to the Dollhouse, she stays behind after Guang-Hong wipes Masaru, and Eros wanders out of the lab. She shares with the programmer her concerns, and he does look surprised, but not as much as she herself felt.

“It’s not  _ unheard  _ of, exactly,” Guang-Hong begins to explain. “Typically, when Actives go on repeat engagements with the same imprints, those imprints can sometimes… blend. And especially since both Haruhiko and Masaru have been used heavily by this Nikiforov guy, Eros’s brain could easily get confused.”

“So what should we do?” asks Minako with a frown.

“I’d recommend a full scrubbing,” says Guang-Hong. “Wipe the slate totally clean, like when he first came here. It’d take care of his weird little bond with Agape, too. Theoretically.”

Minako nods, pursing her lips. “Okay… So why don’t we do that?”

“Well, we kinda need Director Giacometti’s permission,” the programmer says, shrugging. “He needs to review the case and decide if it’s worth the procedure. It’s a lot more extensive than your usual wipe.”

The handler groans. “Guang-Hong, you know as well as I do that he’s not going to agree to that. Chris is…”

“Weirdly fixated on Eros and Nikiforov, yeah,” Guang-Hong finishes sullenly. “You sure you don’t know what he’s doing?”

“Not a clue,” she grouses. “But I’m starting to get annoyed by it. I’m going to talk to Chris about it.”

She whirls around on her heels and begins marching towards the door. Guang-Hong stares after her.

“What,  _ now?” _

She tosses him a look over her shoulder, smiling sweetly, but the programmer gulps nervously. 

“No time like the present, Guang-Hong,” she says, and then she vanishes from the lab.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The company Victor works for/will eventually own is called ‘Aelita’, which is the name of a Russian science-fiction novel, “Aelita, or The Decline of Mars”. I just thought the name sounded pretty lol. I'm describing it as vaguely as possible since I don't know shit about businesses, but it's probably similar to the corporation from the Dollhouse TV show, which deals in pharmaceuticals, MRI imaging equipment, etc., etc.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowww it's been a while ahaha
> 
> anyway INCOMING DRAMA

* * *

 

 

Minako knocks sharply on the door to Christophe’s office, each bang coming after one another in rapid succession. She normally knocks more softly, but right now, she’s in no mood for civility.

There’s a pause as soon as she stops, and then she hears Christophe’s voice come from the other side of the door, muffled as it may be.

“Come in?”

She takes a deep breath and strides inside, barely having the forethought to close the door again behind her. Christophe perks up at the sight of her, his smile widening ever so slightly over his handsome face.

_No,_ Minako shakes her head internally. _Don’t get distracted._

“Minako,” he greets her merrily. “What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

She walks up to his desk, her expression betraying nothing. As soon as she reaches him, she flattens her palms against the expensive metal surface, and he quirks an eyebrow.

“It’s about Eros,” she begins, but before she can go on Christophe rolls his eyes.

“It’s been about Eros for a while now, hasn’t it?” he drawls.

Minako glowers at him. “And whose fault is that?”

“Fair enough,” he waves his hand. “So, what is it this time? Did something happen on Masaru’s date tonight?”

“You could say that.”

Minako explains to him the problem – or what she _thinks_ is a problem, but when Christophe hears about it, he actually grins. Like he’s _happy_ about it. She can only stare at him, flabbergasted, as he refuses her request to scrub Eros’s mind.

“Wh – What is _wrong_ with you?” she asks, voice pitched higher out of sheer desperation. He looks at her coolly. “This is _standard procedure,_ Chris! If it were any other Active you’d approve it!”

“Who’s to say?” Christophe answers evasively. “But I really don't see this as an issue, Minako.”

“ _Why?!_ You know as well as I do that an Active is _not_ supposed to that! What are you planning, Christophe? What could be so important that you’re risking your job _again?!_ Was Pragma not enough of a lesson for you? _”_

At that, Christophe’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Minako,” he says quietly, but Minako is too angry to back down.

“ _No,_ fuck you, you need to hear this!” Minako leans even further over his desk, meeting his now cold and dark eyes with her angry glare. “You got too involved with Pragma, Chris. Then the Chairman realized what you were doing and had him _killed._ Do you remember that? Because I sure as hell do, and I know the rest of the staff does, too.”

Christophe’s hands, which are resting on his desk, are clasped together in a tight, white-knuckled grip. He stares hard at a random knick-knack on his desk, resolutely not meeting Minako’s eyes.

Minako’s voice becomes softer. “I know you cared for him,” she murmurs, catching the telltale twitch of Christophe’s fingers. “And I know your interest in Eros isn’t quite the same. But you’re getting too involved again, and at the very least, I want to know what’s so important you’d risk Eros’s life and getting sent to the Attic over it? _Please,_ Christophe,” she begs, “tell me what’s going on.”

Christophe takes a deep breath, but doesn’t lift his head to meet her imploring gaze.

“... I think you should leave now, Miss Okukawa,” he says eventually, voice dull. “I’ll call you if another engagement for Eros comes through.”

A beat passes. Then, Minako leans back, straightening her posture, and glares back at Christophe with disgust.

“As you wish, _Director Giacometti,”_ she sneers, turning on her heel and storming out of his office.

She doesn’t notice how he flinches when she slams the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

Victor has always found winter the most romantic season.

Perhaps it’s his Russian blood speaking, but he’s always been charmed by the sight of snow; pure, undriven, delicate, layering itself on top of the earth like a blanket. With winter comes snow, and with snow comes evenings spent cuddling by a fire, holding hands for warmth, and soft kisses in the snowfall.

His mother had once told him that she fell in love with his father because of the snow. He’d tripped and fallen in a mound of it the very first time he saw her, and the sight of him, bewildered, enchanted, and absolutely soaked with melted snow had charmed her. It was Victor’s favorite story for a long time, before…

Well.

Regardless, he shares his mother’s infatuation with winter, which is why, in a more pointed effort to charm Masaru Amari, he takes him on a simple walk through the park, the snow falling gently around them.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t really accounted for the fact that Masaru’s tolerance for the cold wasn’t quite the same as his.

The Japanese man beside him huffs, tugging his heavy jacket closer around his body, and Victor has to repress a laugh. He looks so adorable, his nose and ears red, that pout on his face…

Masaru glances at him and catches him smiling. Predictably, he glares at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Victor lies. “Are you cold?”

“Of course I’m cold,” snaps Masaru. “It’s December and we’re _outside._ In _Russia._ Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Because I’m charming and it’s beautiful outside?”

Masaru looks around the park. Fairy lights are strung up in the trees, twinkling like stars among the branches, and Christmas decorations line the pathways. Other couples and children are strolling about, the atmosphere of the place completely calm.

“... Well,” Masaru says quietly, “it’s beautiful, anyway.”

Victor chuckles, hands going to his scarf. He pulls it off and, without warning, wraps it around Masaru’s neck. The smaller man looks up at him incredulously.

“You need it more than I do,” Victor says as an explanation, and steals a kiss before settling back, slipping his hand into Masaru’s.

“... Thank you,” he replies. “And, um… I do mean it. It’s really beautiful, Victor.”

Victor smiles. “Just a shame Makkachin couldn’t join us, isn’t it?”

“That was your fault,” huffs Masaru again, but Victor can see a grin playing at his lips. “Honestly, he’s a dog, you don’t need to be so jealous…”

“I wouldn’t be so jealous if you didn’t kiss my dog more than you do me.”

“What can I say? He’s far cuter.”

“Masaru!” Victor gasps, holding his other hand to his heart. “How could you be so cruel?”

Masaru can’t hold up the facade for long, and he soon begins giggling, his eyes closed with mirth as he tries to contain his laughter. Victor watches him, charmed, but an irritating feeling nags at the back of his mind - as it has done for months now.

It’s not… a bad feeling, per se, but it is an odd one. With Masaru, or Haruhiko, he’s begun having a little ache in the back of his head. It’s not a headache or a migraine, but it’s there, just persistent enough to remind Victor that it’s there and annoy him.

He’d figured it was guilt. Wouldn’t most people feel guilty, doing what he was doing? At the very least, some of the Dollhouse’s other clients had to feel this way.

He thinks of Yuuri Katsuki less often now, but that’s more due to Victor’s willful ignorance than actually forgetting who he is. On those horrible nights he _does_ let himself dwell on it, the feeling only gets worse.

He had a nightmare about it, once. He dreamt of walking into the Dollhouse, meeting Masaru - or was he Haru then? - only to see the love and warmth in the Active’s expression slowly give way to horror and disgust. And Victor knew, even subconsciously, that he was face to face with Yuuri Katsuki, the man he’d effectively been taking advantage of these past several months. Yuuri screamed, started crying, and Victor was frozen in place, doomed to do nothing but watch the other man break down before him. He felt… helpless.

Victor had awoken from that nightmare in a cold sweat, Makkachin pawing desperately at his legs, sensing his distress. Victor hadn’t even realized he’d been crying until his poodle licked at his face, cleaning off the tears.

It was guilt, he decided then.

He’s brought out of his musings when Masaru sneezes, and he looks over to see his date sniffling pitifully.

“... I suppose it is chillier than usual,” he says. “Perhaps we should go back to my place.”

Masaru lets out a sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”

“Eager to see my dog again, are we?” teases Victor, but Masaru gives him a sideways look instead of going along with it.

“Well… Sure, but…” His free hand fiddles with Victor’s scarf, which is still around his neck. “I was thinking, maybe… You’d like to help me warm up in a… _different_ way?”

From the way Masaru peers up at him, earnest eyes under long lashes, and his tongue licking his lips, it’s not hard for Victor to deduce his intentions.

“Oh?” He feels a smirk crack on his face. He stops walking abruptly and pulls Masaru flush against him, delighting in the other man’s startled gasp. “Have I finally worn you down?”

Masaru blinks at him for a few seconds before rolling his eyes, shoving at Victor weakly. “Oh, shut up,” he says, but that’s _all_ he says, so Victor’s smirk only grows before he leans down and captures Masaru’s lips with his own.

It’s far more intense than the chaste little peck he’d given him earlier. It’s hot, and passionate, and bordering on filthy as he slips his tongue easily into the cavern of Masaru’s mouth. Amazingly, Masaru lets him, succumbing easily to the pleasure of being kissed. Victor’s hands go quickly to his date’s waist, just as Masaru’s grip his shoulders, but it’s not long before he gives into temptation and squeezes Masaru’s delightfully pert ass.

That gets the smaller man to squeak in protest against Victor’s mouth, and he finally pushes him away, his expression scandalized.

“ _Victor!”_ he scolds in a whisper. “We’re in public!”

Victor only raises an eyebrow. “ _Da?_ You were not protesting a minute ago.”

“A minute ago you weren’t _molesting_ me.”

“No,” he admits. “But that kiss wasn’t exactly safe for all audiences, I think.”

Masaru’s cheeks darken, turning redder than the biting cold air could ever dream of making them. “I’m not letting you grope me in public.”

“Okay. But in private?”

“... Just get me back to your place, and we’ll see.”

Victor lets go of Masaru and entwines their hands together. “Gladly,” he replies with a wink. He starts leading Masaru back through the path they’d originally come - though they were at the park for only about half an hour, the crowd was already thinning, and they were among the few stragglers left for the evening.

As he feels Masaru gently squeeze his hand, Victor begins to wonder. What would he do now? His entire goal with Masaru was to challenge himself, seduce a man who would play hard-to-get. Certainly, Masaru ended up being a bit more difficult than he’d imagined, but he’d enjoyed himself nonetheless. But now that Masaru was willing and ready, there was no point anymore…

Was there?

_Well,_ Victor thinks to himself lightly, _I can figure all that out later. For now…_

Masaru tucks himself closer to Victor’s side as they walk, making the Russian smile fondly. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to revisit Masaru every now and again. He can make their engagement a semi-regular thing, like he does with -

“ _Haruhiko!”_

Startled, Victor whirls around, and Masaru follows along, though he seems significantly more confused.

There’s a man standing a few feet behind them on the path. He’s rumpled and dirty, obviously living on the streets, in a suit that looks like it used to be worth something, but now hangs on his form in tatters. His hair is shaggy and matted, and his eyes are wide and crazed as he takes a stumbling step forwards.

He holds an arm out, pointing at Masaru. A manic grin stretches across his face.

“It _is_ you! Haruhiko!”

Victor feels his breath catch in his throat as Masaru instinctively curls in closer to him, watching the man with a bewildered expression.

“Um… I’m sorry, sir, that’s not my name. You must have me confused with someone else…”

Vehemently, the man shakes his head and takes another step forwards. “No! No, I’d know you anywhere. Don’t you recognize me, baby? It’s your Pyotyr!”

Masaru makes a face and clings to Victor’s arm - Victor is frozen, gaping like a fish at this unexpected turn of events.

“I don’t know anyone named Pyotyr,” he hisses back. “Come on, Victor, let’s go.”

He tugs Victor’s arm, bringing the Russian back into awareness. He coughs into his free hand. “Yes, of course. Excuse us, sir,” he says to the man, but that’s not the end of it.

“Ooh, I get it,” Pyotyr leers. “He’s another client of yours, isn’t he? So, what are you this time? A socialite? Runaway aristocrat, maybe? Or are you his slut?”

Masaru looks offended, and despite Victor’s best efforts, he wrenches away from the Russian and marches towards the man. Before anyone can register what’s happening, Masaru raises his hand and slaps Pyotyr soundly across the face, the stinging noise echoing through the mostly-abandoned park.

“How dare you!” Masaru seethes. “I don’t know who you are, but no one insults me in such a manner!”

“Masaru,” Victor says urgently, placing what he hopes is a calming hand on Masaru’s shoulder, “please, _zvezda moya,_ let us go. He is clearly insane.”

Masaru looks at Victor, then back at Pyotyr, who’s fallen to the ground with the force of Masaru’s slap. He looks pitiful. The Japanese man takes a deep, shuddering breath, and nods.

“Right. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Victor smiles reassuringly at him and wraps an arm around his back, but Pyotyr looks up in time to see it. Suddenly, anger overtakes the man’s expression as the two begin to walk away.

“No!” he screams, stumbling to his feet. “He’s mine!”

He grabs Masaru’s arm, making the smaller man yelp, and Victor reacts immediately. His arm flies out, fist connecting to Pyotyr’s jaw with a loud _crunch,_ and the man spirals back to the ground. Unfortunately, he does not release Masaru as he falls, so he goes down, too, hitting his head against the snow-covered ground.

“Masaru!” Victor shouts, falling to his knees to help his date. Masaru is groaning, but he’s conscious, so that’s good. Beside him, Pyotyr is also groaning, but he has the presence of mind to send a hateful glare in Victor’s direction.

“He’s mine,” he growls. “I had him first. He’ll always be mine, no matter what you told them to put in his head. He’s mine!”

Pyotyr tries to lunge at Victor, but before he can do so much as brace himself, the man suddenly stills, eyes wide, and then slumps back to the ground. Victor blinks at his unmoving form, then realizes that a small dart is poking out from his arm.

He hears footsteps to his left, so he looks up, and sees Eros’s handler striding towards him, a gun in her hand. The woman looks like she’s on the warpath, and behind her are two men in dark suits that match her own.

Masaru shifts in Victor’s arms, so he removes his gaze from the approaching trio and looks down at him instead.

“Are you alright, _zvezda moya?”_ Victor asks, brow furrowed.

“I’m… Yeah, I’m fine,” Masaru grits out, clearly grimacing with pain.

Eros’s handler crouches next to them, her gun now back in its holster. She reaches out and Victor reluctantly gives her room to examine Masaru, despite Masaru’s faint protests that he feels fine.

Masaru glances at Victor for just a moment and gasps.

“V-Victor! Your hand!”

Victor frowns, looking down at his hand, and indeed, finds his knuckles bruised and even a bit bloody. He thought he’d felt something hard, like teeth, when he punched Pyotyr.

“Don’t worry,” he says gently. “It will be fine. Let’s worry about you, _da?”_

“Masaru,” the handler interrupts. She now has a serene smile on her face. Masaru regards her suspiciously. “Would you like a treatment?”

Victor sighs, but Masaru only stares at her.

“Are you insane?” he says back. “We have to get Victor to a hospital - or at least, treat those bruises!”

The handler blinks, shocked, as Masaru does not reply the way she expected. Victor is stunned, too. Masaru wiggles out of her grasp and goes to cradle Victor’s hand softly in his own.

“You’re _bleeding,”_ Masaru says, in his odd little way that is both concerned and scolding. Normally, Victor would smile. But now, he only stares back at the Active.

“Masaru,” the handler tries again, this time more urgently, “your treatment.”

Masaru twitches, and very briefly, Victor can see a haze settle in his eyes, but he blinks, and it’s gone just as quickly.

He decides to speak up. “Masaru,” he murmurs, drawing the Japanese man’s eyes from his hand to his face. “Go and get your treatment. I am fine, I promise.”

“I…” However uncertainly, Masaru lets go of Victor’s hand. His shoulders slump ever so slightly. “I… I love… my treatments…?”

Victor smiles encouragingly. “You do, of course. This nice woman will take you to your treatment. Go. I will call.”

Masaru blinks rapidly. “I… I love my treatments. Why?”

Victor and the handler both freeze.

“Why do I… my treatments… Victor’s hurt…” Masaru begins to mutter. “I… Victor…”

Victor reaches out. “Masa-!”

Suddenly Masaru crumples, his hands flying to his head as he lets out an anguished cry. His eyes are shut tightly, his mouth is twisted with pain. The handler flies to her feet and quickly goes to help Masaru to his. The Active stumbles, and it’s only due to Victor, who’s also gotten up, that he doesn’t fall once again. Victor’s hands are on Masaru’s waist, while the handler steadies him with an arm around his back. Victor looks at Masaru’s face and sees tears falling from his eyes.

“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” he repeats, like a broken record. His hands snap up to grip Victor’s forearms. “Victor, it hurts! Why does it hurt? Make it stop!”

“Masaru, come,” the handler urges. “We can fix that, it won’t hurt anymore.”

She shoots Victor a look, so he goes along with it. “Listen to her, darling, please. She can help you.”

Masaru, to his distress, only sobs louder. He opens his eyes and Victor stares helplessly into those russet brown depths, still leaking tears. “It hurts, Victor, please!”

The handler bites her lip, glancing at Masaru and then at Victor, and then suddenly she pulls her gun back out, leveling the barrel at Masaru’s neck. Victor opens his mouth in alarm just as she squeezes the trigger, and Masaru goes still. Victor sees a dart buried in the folds of his scarf, but it must have made contact with his skin, because Masaru’s eyes go glassy and he falls forward, only to be caught by Victor.

He looks incredulously at the handler, who looks considerably more relaxed now. She puts her gun back and wordlessly pulls Masaru away from Victor, hooking her arms under his knees and back, hefting him up almost effortlessly in a bridal-style carry. Masaru’s head lolls back as she adjusts her position.

She sends him another look. Victor stares back.

“Will he…” he finds himself speaking. “Will he be alright?”

The handler - he really should learn her name - narrows her eyes.

“We’ll call,” she says snappishly, turning on her heel and marching away, Eros secure in her arms. Victor watches her leave.

It occurs to him now that he is the only one left in the park. Pyotyr’s unconscious form has vanished, as have the two men he saw accompany Eros’s handler. He can only assume they took him away, but as to where, he hasn’t got a clue.

The evening wind blows, whipping snow against Victor’s bare neck, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. His heart's still pounding in his chest, and that annoying feeling in the back of his head is now a full-on headache.

Wordlessly, Victor wills his feet to move forwards, and he makes his way home, alone and in the dark.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I'll cut it off here for the sake of making people freak out. 
> 
> Well, I'll be going on Spring Break soon, so hopefully I can write a bit more for this fic. Fingers crossed!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eros's condition is uncertain, and Minako wants answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, it's been a while. I wish I had a good excuse, but honestly, this chapter was just hell to write. 
> 
> We're getting closer to the juicy bits and I can't wait.

* * *

 

 

The first ten minutes are a blur.

Minako can only remember bits and pieces of what actually happened: she’d rushed Eros back to the Dollhouse, breaking more than a few traffic laws along the way, the Active in her arms unresponsive. As soon as the van parked in the garage, Guang-Hong and Dr. Nekola were waiting. They took Eros to the doctor’s office, but only after promising Minako that they’d update her on his status as soon as they could.

Minako could only watch them leave, a heavy feeling in her gut as Eros’s unconscious form disappeared behind the doors of Dr. Nekola’s workspace. She sank into a nearby chair and just sat there. Waiting.

That’s where she is when Guang-Hong emerges from the room, half an hour later. He looks tired, but he beckons the handler inside anyway, and Minako does so without a moment’s hesitation.

She hasn’t been in Dr. Nekola’s medical lab for a long time; not since the new Eros came in. Hers was a relatively safe Active, not prone to injury, so the only times she’d set foot in the space were during Eros’s check-ups, which were brief and uneventful. But the lab is the same as she remembers - clean, well-organized, with posters of pop art and animals plastered on the walls, as part of the Czech doctor’s attempt to liven up the space.

Eros liked them, she remembers. He particularly liked the painting of poodles that hung on the wall closest to the door.

Guang-Hong takes her further into the lab, where she can finally see Eros, his prone form lying on a cot. He’s hooked up to a machine that has a complicated display that she doesn’t quite understand, but she knows that Guang-Hong and Dr. Nekola do. 

Speaking of, the doctor is standing next to Eros’s cot, holding in his hands a black clipboard. He looks up and smiles gently at the handler as she enters, though she doesn’t have the strength to return it. 

“Emil. How is he?” she asks.

“Stable,” he replies. “Aside from a nasty bump on the head, he has no outward physical damage. But…”

He trails off uncertainly, glancing at Guang-Hong. The technician takes that as his cue and starts talking.

“But there’s definitely something wrong with his brain. I’ve never seen anything like it, Minako.” 

Guang-Hong crosses over to the cot and points at the image on the machine’s monitor. It shows a scan of a human brain, Eros’s brain, lit up in different colors. She can’t tell what specifically he’s pointing at, but she doesn’t have to, because he explains.

“Normally, repeat imprints like Masaru and Haruhiko leave small traces on the brain. Nothing a good, clean wipe can't take care of. But this?” He gestures at a large band of red and yellow on the monitor. “This isn’t just Haruhiko or Masaru. This is like… an entirely different personality.”

“What?” Minako blinks, incredulous. “Like a... new imprint?”

“Not new,” says Dr. Nekola. “Look at this.”

He taps something on his clipboard, and the image on the monitor changes. Now by its side is another brain scan that looks similar, but different. Minako peers at it, unsure of what she’s supposed to see.

“This is the brain scan we took at the beginning of Eros’s contract, before his original personality was wiped.”

Guang-Hong cuts in. “This is Eros  _ before  _ he was Eros.”

Minako stares. First at the monitor, then at the sleeping Active on the cot. “So he… reverted back to his original personality? The one he had before the Dollhouse?”

“Not completely,” says Guang-Hong. “He was only about halfway there. You said one of his old clients interrupted him and Nikiforov during the engagement, right?”

“Yes. Pyotyr Belsky.”

“What exactly did he do?” asks Dr. Nekola, frowning. 

“Called Eros ‘Haruhiko’, insisted that he should remember him… He also called him a whore, which, as Masaru, he did not take kindly to.” Minako bites her lip, considering what else happened. “It wasn’t until he hit his head on the ground that he started acting oddly. He refused his treatment.”

That caused both men to raise an eyebrow.

“That’s… definitely worrisome. What else happened?” asks Guang-Hong.

Minako  shakes her head. “He wanted to stay with Nikiforov, make sure  _ he  _ was okay. He wouldn’t even look at me, it was like…” She frowns. “Like he trusted Nikiforov more than me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” argues Guang-Hong, but Dr. Nekola interjects.

“Actually, it could. Considering all the time he’s spent with this Nikiforov guy, he could have formed a subconscious attachment to him. In his confused state, it’s not difficult to imagine his imprint’s feelings for Nikiforov had an effect on his judgement.”

“Sure,” bites Guang-Hong, “but the whole point of the Actives having handlers at all is so that they have someone to implicitly trust no matter what. He’s known Nikiforov for what, a few months? Minako’s been his handler for  _ four years _ .”

Dr. Nekola shakes his head, sighing. “Look, I don’t know, alright? I might be a doctor, but the brain and the Dolls are  _ your  _ area of expertise. Let’s just… monitor him more closely and see what happens. It’s all we can do, at this point.”

Guang-Hong pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “... Fine. We’ll do a cursory wipe when he wakes up. Worst case scenario, we’ll have to do a full scrubbing, Director Giacometti’s permission be damned.”

“No need for that,” interrupts Christophe, causing all three of them to jolt to attention. They turn and see him in the doorway, looking… terrible. There are massive bags under his eyes and his hair is askew, as if he’d jumped out of bed and ran to the Dollhouse on foot. “You have my permission, if you deem a scrubbing necessary.”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the beeping and whirring of Eros’s machine, until Guang-Hong shuffles awkwardly.

“Oh… okay. Cool. Thanks.”

But Minako’s glare only hardens. “Oh, so  _ now  _ you’ll approve the procedure? After Eros has a meltdown in front of his best-paying customer?”

Christophe winces. “I know, it doesn’t fix what happened - !”

“You’re damn right it doesn’t,” she snaps back. “If you’d just approved it earlier, it might not have gotten this bad! Look at him, Chris!” She gestures to Eros’s limp form, and Christophe’s grimace grows deeper. “This is  _ your  _ fault!”

Before Christophe can say anything in his defense, there’s a quiet sound that cuts through the tense atmosphere in the room. It’s a whimper, small and pitiful, but it makes every conscious head in the room whip around to look at the source: Eros. The Active has a pained expression on his face. 

Dr. Nekola lays a hand on his shoulder, mutters something under his breath which seems to relax Eros, then turns an unimpressed gaze on Minako and Christophe.

“Whatever it is you two need to get off your chests, please do it somewhere else. You’re disturbing him.”

Minako starts to protest, but Christophe cuts her off. 

“Yes, of course. Minako?”

He nods his head towards the door. Minako still glares at him, but then glances back to Eros, and feels guilt twist in her gut. 

“We’ll take care of him, Minako,” Dr. Nekola promises. “Please.”

She sighs. “Fine.”

Without another word, she turns around and marches out of the doctor’s office. She’s more than aware of Christophe at her heels, but the Director doesn’t say anything, so neither does she. 

She leads the way, winding through the hallways of the facility, until they find a secluded spot, devoid of any handlers, Actives, or staff. Finally turning to face Christophe, Minako’s resting expression is one of calm fury. Christophe, to his credit, returns her gaze with a sorrowful one of his own.

She decides to talk first. 

“If you’d just listened to me, none of this would have happened.”

Christophe’s expression doesn’t falter. “You don’t really know that. Even if Eros had been scrubbed prior to his engagement, an encounter that jarring might’ve still had a negative effect on him.”

Furious, Minako opens her mouth to retort, but Christophe cuts her off before she can utter a single syllable.

“But still, you’re right. Eros wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for me.” He looks up, green eyes to Minako’s brown. “You have to understand, Minako, I have only his best interests at heart.”

Confusion swirls in the midst of Minako’s fury. “His best interests? How is renting him out to some rich, bored playboy and exposing him to possible mental damage in his best interests?”

“I’m trying to help him,” Christophe says, lowering his gaze. “I know, it’s confusing, but I can’t tell you everything. Not yet.”

“Then  _ when?”  _ she groans. “He’s my charge, Chris! I am responsible for him! You made me responsible for him! But you can’t even tell me what the hell you’re planning with him? Why don’t you trust me?”

“I do,” he interrupts, a fervent tone to his voice. He takes a step closer, and looks visibly relieved when she does not take a step back. “I trust you more than anyone else in this damn business, Minako. But I can’t tell you.”

Minako stares back at him, her steely gaze slowly losing some of its edge. “Why?”

“After… After Pragma,” Christophe begins, a shuddering breath pausing him for a moment. “The Chairman brought up everyone who knew about us. Pragma’s handler, a few members of the staff, my old assistant? Didn’t you ever wonder what happened to them?”

Minako’s brow furrows, but the despondent look on Christophe’s face is enough of an answer. She gasps.

“No…”

Christophe’s mouth presses into a tight, thin line. It stays like that for several seconds before he speaks up again. This time, his green eyes are glistening. “They’re all gone, Minako. Some are dead, some are in the Attic, which is as good as… And it was my fault. The Chairman told me so himself. They wouldn’t have wound up where they did if I hadn’t made them my accomplices.”

Minako’s gaze finally softens. She reaches forward to touch Christophe’s shoulder. “Chris… I-I didn’t know, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s why I can’t tell you anything, Minako. You, or Guang-Hong, or Emil, or  _ anyone.  _ I can’t risk losing you, too.”

“Then why do this at all?” she asks, albeit gently. “Why go through this again if you know what the consequences are? Is Eros really worth it?”

Christophe laughs, though it’s a sad, short sound that stops as soon as it begins. “It’s not just him. But yes. I really think he is.”

“Chris, please, just tell me,” Minako pleads. “It can just be between us. Help me understand. Let me help you.”

Christophe smiles at her. “ _ Mon cygne…  _ I want to, I do, but it’s too dangerous. The Chairman’s already been alerted to Eros’s condition… I can’t risk bringing you into this now.”

“What?” Minako blinks. “How did he find out? It’s only been a few hours…”

“It’s a new policy,” Christophe explains monotonously. “Instilled after Pragma. Any serious medical issue concerning an Active is to be reported to the Chairman as soon as possible. One of the men you had with you to take in Belsky called it in.”

“W-What’s he going to do?”

“He’s already called for a meeting. I’m supposed to meet him in half an hour.” Christophe glances around the hallway, which is mercifully still empty. He looks back at Minako. “I don’t know how much he knows. I’m already on my last strike.”

“He wouldn’t…” Minako’s features contort in horror. “He can’t just…”

“It’s his company. His Dolls.”

“There has to be something we can do.”

“All I can do is go and meet him and act like nothing's wrong. I might be able to pass off Eros’s incident as purely Belsky’s fault. With luck, I won’t have to mention Victor Nikiforov at all.”

“I still don’t know what he has to do with any of this.”

“That was my intention…” Christophe sighs, running a hand through his hair. Then, suddenly, he pauses. Something flickers in his eyes as he looks back at Minako - she recognizes that face. He’s got an idea. 

“What is it?” she asks eagerly. 

“I… I’m not sure. It’s a bad idea.”

“To be fair, Chris, most of yours are.”

That earns a small smile from the Director. “You’re right about that… Okay. In my office, in the top drawer of my desk, there’s a package. It’s addressed to Victor Nikiforov. I want you to take it to him.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“You’ll find out when you get there. At this point, Nikiforov knows about as much as you do. Probably less. The contents of that package should be enlightening to you both. And if something happens to me, I hope it’ll let you understand.”

It’s Minako that steps forward this time, moving her hand from Christophe’s shoulder to cradle his cheek. He leans into the touch, his own hand coming up to grip hers. 

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” she swears. “Or else the Chairman will answer to me.”

Christophe sighs again, though he has a smile on his face as he does it. 

“You always were too good for me,  _ mon cygne.” _

She smiles back. “Better than you deserve, that’s for damn sure.”

 

* * *

 

**_Four years ago…_ **

_ “Ah, Minako!” _

_ Minako looks up at the sound of her name, to see Isabella striding towards her. Her Active, a tall, handsome young man with the callsign Philautia, follows behind her, smiling lazily. He must have just come from a treatment, she surmises.  _

_ She spares a smile for the younger handler as she approaches. “Isabella. Nice to see you again.” _

_ “It’s been ages, Minako!” Isabella lightly taps Minako in the shoulder with her fist. Philautia looks between them, still smiling, but doesn’t speak. “You’re finally getting back to work?” _

_ Minako gives a half-smile at that. “I’m told they finally found a suitable replacement for Eros.” _

_ “Well, I guess a three-month vacation is good enough, huh?” _

_ “You’re telling me.” _

_ The women share a few more words, and then Isabella waves her off, ushering Philautia along. Minako smiles at her back for a few seconds before turning and making her way to the lab, where her newest charge was waiting. _

_ She finds Guang-Hong in the lab, unsurprisingly, as well as Christophe. He’s as handsome as ever in his pinstriped suit and neat hair, and he’s currently looking down upon a young man seated in the chair. Minako, with a dulled realization, knows that he must be the new Eros. _

_ He’s very obviously Japanese, which causes a small pang in Minako’s heart. She’s not seen her home country in years, let alone another countryman. It’s just her luck that one is desperate enough to sign himself over to the Dollhouse.  _

_ She walks up to Christophe, her arms crossed over her chest. “This him?” she asks. _

_ Christophe blinks, turning his head towards her. Then he offers a smile. “Ah, Minako! Yes, yes, this is him. Your new best friend.” _

_ She rolls her eyes. “Sure.” _

_ There’s a loud, metallic clang from where Guang-Hong is standing. Minako and Christophe direct their gazes towards the technician, who smiles sheepishly as he finishes plugging in couple of wires. _

_ “Sorry,” he says. “But, ah, we’re all set now. Minako, if you would?” _

_ “Right,” she nods. She walks to the other side of the chair, more than aware of Eros’s following gaze.  _

_ His eyes are monolid and brown, but that’s not unusual from Japan. His eyelashes are almost unnaturally long, however, and the overall petite shape of his face leaves him a lovely picture. He’s definitely a good fit for the Dollhouse - Minako can already see the ridiculous number of romantic engagements he’ll get. _

_ “Pretty, isn’t he?” says Christophe with a grin.  _

_ Minako hums noncommittally. “Pretty young. How old is he?” _

_ “Twenty. Signed the standard five-year contract.” _

_ Minako only nods. At the very least, when he’s done with being rented out to wealthy playboys and heiresses and politicians, he’ll have a full life to look forward to. Still, she can’t help but wonder… What made this pretty young man go to the Dollhouse in the first place? _

_ She can’t dwell on it, because Guang-Hong is seated at his station, and the chair is lit up with purple lights, surrounding Eros’s head like a halo. Guang-Hong gestures at Minako to start the process. _

_ She looks down at Eros, his face calm and serene, and slips her hand into his. He squeezes back almost immediately, and looks into her eyes. _

_ She smiles gently. “Everything is going to be alright.” _

_ Eros blinks, then responds, looking at Minako with wonder. “Now that you’re here.” _

_ She can feel Christophe and Guang-Hong’s stares at her back, but she isn’t self-conscious. She’s done this what feels like a thousand times. She’s had several different Actives before this Eros, and she’ll probably have more after. _

_ No need for them both to get attached. _

_ “Do you trust me?” she continues. _

_ Eros finally smiles back, causing her breath to hitch.  _

_ “With my life.” _

_ Minako stares down at him, Eros smiling placidly back, until Guang-Hong announces that the process is complete. She quickly pulls her hand away from Eros and steps back, allowing Christophe to help Eros out of the chair. Eros glances at her one last time before leaving the lab. _

_ “Minako?” Christophe murmurs to her. “Are you alright?” _

_ “I…” Minako blinks rapidly. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. It’s been a while, that’s all.” _

_ Christophe raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t quite believe her, but he doesn’t say anything more, to her relief. She excuses herself from the lab and walks out to the main halls of the facility.  _

_ She can already see Eros, who hasn’t wandered very far. He’s made his way to the yoga center, performing the complicated stretches with ease, no sign of discomfort on his face. He’s got a dancer’s body, Minako notes absently. Maybe he had been one, before.  _

_ Smiling to herself, she shakes her head and walks away, leaving Eros to his own devices. _

_ She doesn’t get attached. She’s better than that. _

 

* * *

 

_ Knock knock knock. _

The door swings open not a minute later. Minako narrows her eyes at the face of Victor Nikiforov. Hair all askew, eyes tired; the man looks like he hasn’t slept a wink all night. He frowns at her, squinting, until recognition dawns in his expression.

“Eros,” he blurts immediately. “How is - ?”

He’s cut off by Minako, who raises a hand. His eyes are drawn to what she’s holding in it - a thin yellow packet with his name of it. He stares at it as though he’s seen it before.

Minako lowers the packet and speaks.

“We need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mon cygne - my swan
> 
> Seung-Gil was originally going to be the doctor, but I changed it to Emil last minute. IDK, Emil seems like a warmer guy the Actives could be comfortable around.
> 
> And I'm sorry Chris; you weren't meant to be such a sad babe but I like that it turned out this way so... yeah
> 
> Anyway, be ready y'all: some shit is going down next chapter. >:)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Whew, I really hope everybody likes the chapter! I'm not 100% satisfied with it, but I do like it overall. :)  
> My Anxiety: You hyped up the chapter too much and they're going to be let down by what they get.  
> Me: QAQ 
> 
> Ahahah. So. Yeah. 
> 
> Enjoy, I guess?

* * *

 

 

It’s quiet in Victor’s apartment, save for the jarring chime of the grandfather clock, which told the occupants that it was a quarter past ten.

Victor taps his fingers against the finely-polished wood of his dining table, sneaking glances at the woman sitting across from him. Eros’s handler, or as she introduced herself, Minako Okukawa, stares back at him with her arms folded across her chest, her gaze both intimidating and mysterious.

There’s the muted noise of Makkachin’s snoring in the background - the poodle had been excited about the new guest for all of five minutes before she made it clear that she was in no mood to play, and had since retired to the couch to sleep. Victor’s fingers twitch, suddenly longing to pet his beloved dog. Perhaps it would help calm his nerves.

Between the two of them, the slim packet she’d arrived with sits on the table. Victor glances at it every few seconds, wary of its appearance. It looks just like the one he’d received all those months ago, the one that exposed him to Yuuri Katsuki and caused his damn nightmares. He doesn’t want to think about what could be in this one.

As his gaze shifts from the packet back to Minako, he sees the handler raise an eyebrow. He sighs, deciding to speak first.

“Is Eros alright?” he asks. She hadn’t given him an answer, before, choosing to instead barrel through his front door with surprising ease for such a slender woman. With her fierce looks and demeanor, he’d held back on asking again, but truthfully, worry had been gnawing at his insides ever since he returned from the park.

Minako scrutinizes him carefully. He doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but it must be enough, for she deigns to answer him.

“He’s stable, last I checked,” she says. “We’re still waiting for him to wake up to see the extent of the damage.”

Victor lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping, and he nods. “I see… Um. Miss Okukawa, if i may… that man who approached Eros...”

He trails off uncertainly, but she must understand the unspoken question.

“Pyotyr Belsky, an old client of Eros’s. He was particularly fond of Haruhiko.”

Victor bites back a grimace, and replies dubiously. “That man was a client?” He recalls Pyotyr, the decrepit, insane man in ratty clothes and unkempt hair. He didn’t seem like the type the Dollhouse would cater to.

Minako elaborates, “Was, being the operative word. He blew his entire fortune on engagements with Haruhiko. We finally cut him loose when he failed to make his payments, but he didn’t kick up a fuss, so no red flags were raised.”

Victor huffs disdainfully. “Please. Anyone could tell he was obsessed. There must have been some kind of warning sign.”

Minako tilts her chin up ever so slightly. “I feel like I have to remind you, Mr. Nikiforov: Eros is one of our most popular Dolls. Of course people become infatuated with him. But we operate under the assumption that our clients know what they’re paying for. Fantasy. Whatever Eros feels for the client is merely the result of our technician’s meddling, and they should know that.”

Victor scowls at her, but she blinks back, unperturbed. Her words felt like a scolding, but Victor knew all too well that his relationship with Eros - or rather, his imprints - was entirely one-sided. It just burned to think of the dozens of other clients who had likely had the same experiences as him. Touching Eros, kissing him, watching that soft look in his eyes gazing back at them… An unexpected flare of jealousy burned within him, no matter his attempts to quash it down.

“Not that his other clients matter much, nowadays,” Minako continues. She’s either unaware or uncaring of the conflicted expression on Victor’s face, though it quickly disappears, replaced with confusion.

“Why do you say that?”

“Director Giacometti has withheld Eros from any other romantic engagements. Specifically, ones that were not requested by  _ you,  _ Mr. Nikiforov,” she says. “It caused a bit of mayhem at the Dollhouse, but he was insistent.”

Victor stares at her. “What?”

She stares back. “You didn’t know?”

“Wh- of course not! I never asked him to… Why would he do that?”

Minako shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. That’s why I’m here, actually.” She taps the packet with her index finger. “Director Giacometti is currently… preoccupied with appeasing our Chairman, but he promised that whatever is in this package will be ‘enlightening’, to the both of us.”

“Enlightening?” Victor echoes. 

“He’s been planning something with Eros. And it heavily involves you, for whatever reason. He won’t tell me outright what his intentions are, though he promises they aren’t harmful towards either of you.”

Victor frowns down at the innocuous-looking packet, questions swirling in his head. The Director had deliberately planned this? How much of it? Surely causing Eros to short-circuit fell under the category of ‘harmful’. 

At the very least, it explained the man’s insistence that Victor choose Eros that very first night.

Victor opens his mouth, and one question tumbles out. “Did he send the first one, too?”

Minako’s face scrunches up in confusion. “The first one?”

“I received a package like this one a few months ago, after my first engagement with Eros. There was no return address.” 

“What… what was in the package?”

She seems genuinely curious, he notes. 

“A CD. It was…Here, let me show you.”

He gets up from the table, only to walk towards the living room and scoop his laptop up from where it rested beside Makkachin’s head. The poodle barely opens his eyes to acknowledge his master before falling back asleep. Victor gives him a pat on the head anyway before walking back to the table. He sets the laptop down in front of Minako and takes the seat beside her, opening up the device simultaneously. The CD is still loaded inside, so he simply goes to the media player and pulls up the video.

Minako watches, startled, as Yuuri Katsuki tearfully agrees to the terms of the Dollhouse’s contract. When it’s done, she looks at Victor, and he feels slightly validated at the open shock in her expression.

“I take it you didn’t know about that?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. “You’ve had this for months? Why did you never bring it up?”

“What was I supposed to say?” Victor mutters. “I figured I probably wasn’t meant to have it, so I kept it a secret. But judging from this,” he gestures to the packet on the table, “it was probably the Director who sent it to me in the first place.”

“But why?” Minako murmurs to herself, staring at Yuuri Katsuki’s frozen image on the screen. “ _ I  _ don’t even have access to this. What does he have to gain from showing it to you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Victor says scornfully, earning a dark look from the handler. 

She reaches over and takes the new package, and without further preamble, tears it open. As expected, there’s another CD inside. It’s unmarked, but Victor still feels a sense of dread as he regards it, and when he looks to Minako, he sees a similar look on her face.

She holds up the CD. Victor nods, opening the CD port of his laptop and quickly replacing it with the new one. They both stare anxiously at the screen as the video loads up… and then it begins to play.

The video starts in what looks to be a ballet studio - it's vaguely familiar, by Victor can't quite place it. The camera moves around, obviously being recorded on some handheld device, unlike its predecessor. The studio looks empty, until the camera lands on a single person dancing to dulled music.

It’s Yuuri Katsuki. 

It has to be, Victor can just tell. He leans forward subconsciously as the camera moves in as well, zooming in on Yuuri as he dances. 

And Lord above, does he dance.

Some kind of fast-paced guitar song in playing in the background, the source of it unseen, but if you asked Victor, he would almost swear that the music was coming from Yuuri himself. He spins and turns, all but gliding across the floor like it were made of ice, his hips swaying to guitars and accordions. He launches into a truly impressive jump, earning a gasp from both Victor and Minako, before landing safely on his feet, and the song picks up in tempo. 

The camera follows him dutifully, as if whoever is manning it cannot take their eyes off him. Victor can understand the sentiment. Yuuri is  _ captivating. _

Finally, Yuuri strikes the final pose, his arms wrapped around himself as though embracing a lover. The camera zooms in, highlighting his sweaty, flushed face and tousled hair. Suddenly, Yuuri’s eyes look directly at the camera, and he startles.

_ “Wh - I told you to stop filming me!”  _ he says, adopting a panicked expression.  _ “How long were you standing there?” _

The cameraperson must have a telling look on their face, because Yuuri groans and buries his face in his hands.

_ “Oh my God, you’re so embarrassing. Just… please don’t share it with anyone this time, okay?” _

They hear the cameraperson chuckle - he’s a male, judging by the low rumble of it. 

_ “Don’t laugh, you jerk,”  _ Yuuri mutters miserably. Despite his tone, Victor wants to laugh, too; Yuuri is surprisingly adorable when he pouts.  _ “I don’t get your fascination with filming me anyway. It’s creepy.” _

The cameraman gasps dramatically, finally speaking to address Yuuri. 

_ “It’s not creepy! I’m merely trying to capture how utterly gorgeous you are when you dance… and do other things.” _

_ “Right, like brushing my teeth is gorgeous.”  _ Yuuri says as he rolls his eyes, but Victor and Minako have both frozen. That voice… they both knew that voice.

That was  _ Victor. _

As if cued, the camera swings around, revealing the smiling face of Victor Nikiforov. 

Victor stares at the screen in shock. He’s fairly sure Minako is gawking at him, but he can’t look away as his onscreen counterpart loops an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss.

Yuuri seems to accept the kiss easily enough, the annoyance in his body slowly seeping out. Onscreen Victor breaks the kiss and smiles down at him, and he looks… completely enamored. Then he looks back at the camera and grins widely, showing off his heart-shaped mouth.

_ “And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Yuuri Katsuki. The most beautiful, wonderful, extremely talented dancer in all of the world!” _

Yuuri huddles into Onscreen Victor’s side, burying his face in the nape of his neck. His ears are red.  _ “Vitya! What did I say about showing this to other people?” _

_ “Yes, yes,  _ zvyozdochka,  _ I’m sorry _ , _ ”  _ Onscreen Victor chirps, while the real Victor flinches very visibly at the endearment, his eyes still wide with shock. The Onscreen Victor kisses Yuuri again and keeps talking.  _ “Oh, but I think your mother would love to see this. I’ll send it to her.” _

_ “Don’t - !”  _ Yuuri screeches, but his protest is cut off as the video abruptly ends.

Victor and Minako are left looking at an unmoving screen. Slowly, Minako turns to gawk at him.

“What… What the  _ hell  _ was  _ that?!”  _ she yells, prompting Victor to whip his head around.

“I… I-I don’t…” Victor’s mouth flaps uselessly. “T-That wasn’t  _ me…” _

“It sure as hell looked like you,” she snaps back, accusatory. “You knew Eros before?”

“N-No, I’ve never…!” he falters.

“This doesn't make any sense,” Minako gets out of her seat, pacing the floor with an intense expression. “Why would Chris… How did he even - where is this from?”

She directs the last question at Victor, but he shrugs helplessly. 

“How am I supposed to know?”

She gestures wildly at the laptop. “You were  _ there!  _ How do you not know?!”

Angrily, Victor gets out of his seat, too, snarling at Minako as he replies, “I  _ told  _ you, I have no idea what the hell that was!”

“Really?” she scoffs, obviously skeptical. “Because it looked to me like you and Eros - or Katsuki, whatever - were pretty close. You’re telling me you have  _ no memory  _ of that at all?”

Victor throws up his hands. “No! I’ve never met Yuuri Katsuki before the Dollhouse. I think I would’ve remembered if I had… Agh!”

Suddenly, Victor’s hand flies to his temple, where a searing pain has started to burn. It spreads from his temples to what feels like his entire brain, and he squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to quell the ache. He falls to his knees at the intensity of it, or at least he tries to, but he’s stopped by a pair of slender yet strong arms - Minako.

With some effort, he cracks an eye open to look at the handler; she’s already started the process of maneuvering Victor back into his chair, though she wears an odd expression on her face. It’s equal parts concerned and alarmed.

When Victor is safely back in his seat, he leans over the table, resting his elbows on the hardwood, and continues pressing the heel of his palms against his forehead. It hurts like a  _ bitch,  _ and he bites back a groan. 

He hears scrabbling against the wooden floors of his apartment, and then a soft, fuzzy head bumps against his leg. He manages to glance down to see Makkachin, staring up at him in earnest concern. Victor spares his dog a tiny smile before another wave of pain rolls over him.

It’s mercifully quiet for a while before Minako speaks up again, though her voice is purposefully soft. 

“You… You really can’t recall anything, can you?”

Victor breathes in through his nose and exhales out his mouth; the pain has subsided somewhat, though there’s still an irritating throbbing radiating from his temples. 

“No,” he croaks; he takes a small amount of pride in the way his annoyance shines through in his tone, but Minako seems unaffected. Makkachin whines, sitting at Victor’s feet.

“Do you have any aspirin?” Minako asks. 

Victor waves his hand at the kitchen counter, not bothering to lift his head, and minutes later, he hears a bottle open. Two white pills appear in his field of vision, held in Minako’s hand. He swipes them up and pops them into his mouth. He starts to feel better as he chews, so he finally lifts his head to look at Minako properly. She’s still watching him with that odd expression, like she suddenly understands a part of the puzzle.

She holds up the bottle of aspirin. “This is prescription,” she says. “Do you get migraines often?”

“Every now and again,” he answers wearily. He leans down to pat Makkachin on the head, which the poodle seems to greatly appreciate. “I got into a minor accident a few years ago. Migraines are a side effect.”

She nods, mostly to herself, and puts the bottle away. When she returns, she sits down and, to Victor’s dismay, restarts the video. Victor looks away before Yuuri starts dancing - he’s not sure he can bear to watch it again, not while his head is still pounding. He focuses on the brown curls on top of Makkachin’s head.

“None of this is familiar to you?” Minako asks again, though she keeps her eyes on the screen. “That doesn’t make any sense…”

“Well…” Victor rubs at his eyes, chasing away the last remnants of the migraine. “To be honest… I feel like I know that studio.”

Minako looks at him. “Really?”

“It seems familiar,” he admits. “But I haven’t set foot in a ballet studio since I was twelve.”

“Is there anywhere you’ve been where there might’ve been a studio nearby? Is there one by your company’s building, maybe?”

He shakes his head. “ _ Nyet.  _ The last I can recall even hearing about a studio was… college, I think. My university had a program for dance majors. But I never went there myself.”

Minako purses her lips, thinking. “What school did you go to?”

“The University of Moscow.”

A beat passes, and then Minako pauses the video, only to pull up an internet browser. She googles ‘University of Moscow ballet studio’ on images, then waits for the results to load. Victor finds himself leaning in to see as well. When the results are done, his eyes widen.

The studio shown via Google Images is an identical match for the one in the video, albeit shot with a much more professional camera. Still, there’s no doubt that they’re one and the same.

Victor stares at the laptop, while Minako slowly turns her head to look at him again. 

“Mr. Nikiforov,” she begins, her voice low. “How much of your university years do you really remember?”

He frowns at her, mouth opening to reply, when they’re both startled by a sudden noise - a knock at Victor’s door. Makkachin immediately bolts towards the noise, tail wagging excitedly at the prospect of more guests to play with. Victor and Minako share a look.

“Go ahead and answer it,” the handler tells him. 

With a sigh, Victor pulls himself out of his chair and walks towards the door, where Makkachin is already pawing insistently at the wood.

He peers through the eyehole, making a surprised noise when he sees who’s on the other side. It’s Georgi. His co-worker is standing with a bored expression, his hands in his pockets as he waits for Victor to open the door.

“Who is it?” asks Minako. “Someone you know?”

“Yes, I work with him. This will just be a minute, I’ll tell him to come back later…”

Victor opens the door, fully revealing Georgi. The dark-haired man smiles politely.

“Victor! So you  _ are  _ home. I’ve been calling you for the past two hours.”

“Have you?” Victor blinks. His phone is tucked away in his pocket, but it must be on silent, because he hasn’t heard it ring at all. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Victor shakes his head and gives Georgi an apologetic look. “Ah, well, I’m sorry, Georgi, but now isn’t a good time.”

Georgi tilts his head, hands still in his pockets. “Hm? Why is that?”

Before Victor can say anything more, he hears a clatter, and he turns his head to see Minako standing up, the chair fallen behind her. But more surprising in the look on her face. She looks stunned.

“Popovich?” she asks confusedly, staring straight at Georgi.

Victor’s eyes widen, and Minako abruptly doubles over, clutching her leg - a patch of red blooms on her thigh, staining the fabric of her suit pants. Victor whirls around to face Georgi, finding a gun in the man’s hand. He looks sad.

“I’m sorry about this, Victor,” he says mournfully. “But I have something to ask you.”

Victor backs away from the door. He’s distantly aware of Makkachin’s distressed barking, and Minako grunt of pain as she lies on the floor.

Georgi looks away from Victor, his expression reluctant. Then, he sighs, facing Victor head-on to look him in the eye. A practiced smile slides onto his face.

“Pragma,” he begins. “Would you like a treatment?”

Then, for Victor, everything goes dark.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIGHT, so some of you kind of already called the twist... I read some of your comments and was like 'fUCK', so good for you folks. Y'all made me panic.
> 
> And in case anyone gets confused: Victor is NOT the same Pragma that Chris got in trouble over. But that's all I'll say. :X
> 
> Naturally, there's still a lot left to go - just because we know the truth about Victor doesn't mean we know the whole story... yet. 
> 
> Next chapter should hopefully bring back Agape and Eros, whom I've missed writing. ;w; They're my bright light in this otherwise stressful fic lol
> 
> (and idk if the University of Moscow has a dance program - I doubt it - but let's just go with it for the fic's sake ok? ok.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all.
> 
> The response to the last chapter was. 
> 
> I N S A N E
> 
> I'm still in denial that so many people were caught off-guard by the twist - I was so sure I made it too obvious! It was very validating, to say the least lmao
> 
> That being said, we're not even close to done here. I'm not even done with the outlines for this fic - it's currently at 16 chapters and that's like, the halfway point. So please keep supporting this story! Every review warms my cold, stressed heart and pushes me to keep writing!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! :D

* * *

 

 

Victor awakes disoriented. Everything is too bright, too blurry. He needs to blink a few times before his vision finally starts to fix itself, and when it does, he finds himself staring up a plain white ceiling and square fluorescent lights.

He groans, immediately shutting his eyes again, and he tries to roll over, but finds he doesn’t have the space. That, and someone’s just put a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from moving around. Cracking one eye open, Victor peers to his side and sees Yakov standing over him, his aged face marred with concern.

“Ya… Yakov?” Victor rasps. He tries to sit up, but the hand - it’s Yakov’s, he realizes belatedly - keeps him down.

“Don’t move, Vitya,” Yakov says, his voice gentle. “You need to rest.”

Disgruntled, Victor does lie down again, but all the while he squints at Yakov.

“What happened?” he asks.

Yakov sighs and removes his hand, tucking it into the pockets of his pants. He looks like a mess, Victor notes - the man is usually dressed to the nines in expensive business suits, but now, there’s no trace of a jacket or tie, and his white shirt is rumpled, like he’s slept in it. His hair is mussed in odd places, too, and the bags under his eyes make him look even older.

“You fell down a staircase at work,” Yakov replies, drawing Victor’s mind back to the conversation. “Hit your head very badly. You’ve been unconscious for three days, now.”

Victor blinks. While that does explain the dull throbbing in his temples, it doesn’t feel right. “I… How?”

Yakov scoffs. “Don’t ask me. You’re just lucky Georgi found you, or else you might not have made it to the hospital in time. He called the ambulance.”

“Georgi did?”

Victor pauses, trying to remember. Everything's coming up blank. When he tries thinking harder, a sudden pain shoots through him, like a knife stabbing him in the back of the eyes, and he cries out, to Yakov’s surprise.

“Vitya!”

Victor feels all his muscles seize up, but just as quickly as it begins, it stops; he takes a few calming breaths, slowly relaxing his body, fearful that the pain could return at any moment. When it doesn’t, he finally looks at Yakov again, finding the older man staring at him with an expression that mixes shock and pity.

“I…” Victor’s tongue darts out to wet his lips - they’re too dry. “I…”

Before he can say anything more, the door to his hospital room opens, and in walks his grandfather. Anton looks at put-together as usual, with his cleanly-pressed suit and neat hair, though there’s a certain panic to his eyes that Victor’s never seen before. His eyes land on his grandson’s awake form, and he rushes over to the other side of the bed.

“Victor!” he breathes. “Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

Anton puts a hand on Victor’s chest, and Victor manages a weak smile.

“I’m alright, _Dedushka,”_ he reassures. Awkwardly, he pats Anton’s hand - he and his grandfather have never really been affectionate, but it’s nice to see him so concerned. The last time he’d ever seen Anton so distressed was around the time _Babushka_ died.

“Are you sure?” Anton presses. “If anything feels odd we can get the doctor in here right away.”

“I’m…” Victor hesitates. “I’m fine, really.”

He feels Yakov’s burning gaze, and he knows that the man probably wants to say something about Victor’s… episode, earlier, but thankfully, he holds his tongue, so Anton merely nods, removing his hand from Victor’s chest.

“That’s good… You scared me half to death, Victor. You need to be more careful.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor offers in return, still unsure about his grandfather’s sudden change in attitude. Then again, it really must have scared him. Anton’s already lost enough - his son, his daughter-in-law, his _wife…_ The last thing he needs is to lose his grandson, too. “I’ll, uh… I’ll watch my step, in the future.”

There’s a twitch to Anton’s lips. “See that you do. And see that you thank Georgi for saving you.”

“I’ll do that, _Dedushka,”_ Victor replies.

The two older men stay in Victor’s room for a little while longer, not really talking about anything in particular. After a few minutes of this, the door opens once again, and a tall bearded man with sandy blond hair enters. He’s wearing a white coat, so Victor assumes he’s the doctor, and judging by his grandfather and Yakov’s sudden shift in mood, he’s right.

The bearded man barely looks at the two standing men before smiling gently at Victor.

“Mr. Nikiforov-the-younger,” he greets, tone jovial. “Glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“Um... Pretty well, I suppose.”

“Good, good.” The doctor walks around to stand at the foot of the bed, flipping open a manila folder as he does so. Anton regards the doctor with a raised eyebrow.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, voice strangely steely.

The doctor doesn’t seem to notice. He waves a hand dismissively at Anton, which makes the older man frown, and Victor tries to suppress a giggle. “Everything’s fine. I just need to run Mr. Nikiforov through his care routine once he’s discharged. After that, a few more days in here and you should be clear to go home.”

Victor nods. “Alright. _Dedushka,_ Yakov,” he addresses the older men, “you can leave.”

They both frown.

“Are you sure, Vitya?” asks Yakov.

“I’m sure,” he says back. “I’m sure Aelita needs the two of you more than I do right now.”

Anton grunts. “True, we really should be getting back to the office… Alright. See that you listen to the doctor, Vitenka.”

Victor nods again, watching as his grandfather shoots the doctor a meaningful look, then does the same to Yakov. Yakov, for his part, just sighs, and pats Victor once firmly on the shoulder, before turning to follow Anton out of the hospital room. Soon, it’s just the doctor and Victor.

“I’m Dr. Nekola, by the way,” the blond says. “Or you could call me Emil, if you’d prefer.”

“Okay,” Victor says blandly. He’s starting to feel tired again. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Emil chuckles. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

He flips through various files in the manila folder and begins listing out instructions for when Victor is discharged; it’s all very standard, as far as Victor can tell. He’s advised to stay home for a few days, a week minimum, to rest and recuperate, and he should probably avoid doing things like driving himself places and, of course, hitting his head again. By the time he’s done, Victor is nodding off again, so Emil tells him they’ll pick up again later, and he leaves.

Victor barely hears that, as he’s already drifting off to sleep when the doctor shuts the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

The next few days are mind-numbingly boring.

Many of his coworkers drop by to check on him, though Victor would be hard-pressed to say he actually knew who any of them were. Anton stops by every so often, Yakov with more frequency, and Georgi has appeared by his bedside more than once.

The first time Georgi showed up, Victor put on a smile and thanked him to calling the ambulance. Georgi had ducked his head in embarrassment and claimed that it was nothing, reaching up to scratch his cheek with his right hand - it was then that Victor noticed the bandage wrapped around his palm.

When he commented on it, Georgi blinked a few times, then revealed to Victor that he’d been bitten by one of his neighbor’s dogs. A simple misunderstanding, he claimed. Victor accepted this easily enough, but the mention of dogs made him immediately begin to worry about his precious Makkachin.

Georgi assured him that the poodle was okay; Yakov took him in and had been taking care of him in Victor’s absence, ready to be picked up once he was discharged.

Victor let out an audible sigh of relief, though he’d yet to shake off his uneasy feeling from before.

On his last day in the hospital, he’s been able to walk around his room, no longer confined to the bed. So when Emil shows up, he finds Victor pacing back and forth in front of the large window set into the wall, and he raises an eyebrow.

Victor just shrugs at him. “I’m feeling restless.”

“Well.” Emil gives him a lopsided grin. “That’s not too unusual. I’d be more worried if you didn’t want to move at all.” He digs into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a small bottle of pills, though they look unlike any pills Victor’s seen before. They’re small and white, more like little balls than pills, and Emil shakes the bottle to jostle them around before explaining them to Victor.

“Now, these are your best friends for the rest of your recovery period. Take one every day before bed until they run out.”

Halting his pacing, Victor walks over to the doctor and takes the pills, squinting at them suspiciously. “And what do they do, exactly?”

“They’re meant to reduce the swelling in your brain, as well as prevent migraines. I understand you have a pre-existing problem with those?”

“Yes. I got into a car accident when I was twenty-one. I’ve had occasional migraines since then.”

Emil hums. “Well, hopefully, these will be better than whatever aspirin you’ve been using thus far. Though,” he adds, as Victor continues inspecting the bottle, “there are some side effects.”

Victor raises an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Mostly strange dreams. Nothing too debilitating. Just make sure you don’t strain yourself, and rest often. You can take one now, if you’d like.”

“... Alright.” Victor opens the bottle and takes out one pill. Popping it into his mouth, he swallows it dry and replaces the bottle on his nightstand, where he’ll retrieve it later. He turns back to Emil with an expectant look. “So am I good to go now?”

Emil chuckles. “Desperate to escape?”

“I feel like I’ve been losing my mind in here.”

The doctor shakes his head with a smile. “Fair enough. Yes, you’re ready to be discharged. I believe Mr. Feltsman is waiting for you in the reception area.”

Victor shoots the doctor a bright smile, and just a few minutes later, he’s redressed in his clothes and walking out to meet Yakov, who is indeed waiting for him.

“I’ve already dropped Makkachin off back at your apartment,” the older man informs him gruffly.

Victor smiles gratefully at him, but the car ride back to his place is largely silent. He just wants to sleep in his own bed, not think about anything that’s happened in the past few days… Even if it technically is the most exciting thing that’s happened to him in a long while.

Victor doesn’t realize he’s sighing until Yakov calls him out on it.

“What’s with that face?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the road. “I thought you’d be ecstatic to be coming home.”

“I am,” Victor answers. “I’m just lamenting what awaits me.”

Yakov grunts. “And that is?”

“Ceaseless boredom.”

The older man huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic, Vitya. I’m sure you’ll find something to do to occupy your time.”

Victor rests his forehead against the window of the car, uncaring that it’s still freezing from the St. Petersburg winter raging outside. “Like I was doing anything _before._ I’ve just realized it, Yakov. I’m boring.”

“You’re not boring,” he says. “You wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass if you were _boring.”_

Victor gives him a sardonic look. “I hardly do anything besides work. I don’t have hobbies, or a lover...” Yakov twitches very minutely at that, but Victor doesn’t notice it. “I don’t even go out all that much. The most interesting thing about me is probably my _dog,_ Yakov.”

Yakov is silent for a few moments. Victor stares resolutely out the window, jolting slightly when the older man finally deigns to reply.

“What about Senator Sokolov’s gala?” he asks quietly.

Victor just rolls his eyes. “That was months ago. I didn’t even bring a _date.”_

He doesn’t see the way Yakov is gripping the steering wheel - his knuckles have turned white, and his grim face is even grimmer than before, lips pressed together tightly in a frown.

Still, when Yakov speaks again, his voice is calm, measured. “Perhaps you should’ve. Would it be such a crazy idea to go out there and meet someone, Vitya?”

Victor grimaces. He finally turns to look at the older man. “Since when are you so interested in my nonexistent love life, Yakov? I thought you and _Dedushka_ wanted me to focus on the company.”

“Bully what _we_ want,” Yakov snaps suddenly, causing Victor to blink. “What do _you_ want?”

“I…” Victor’s mouth hangs open. He’s staring at Yakov, this man he’s known his entire life, with surprise evident in his features. The question he asked rings in his head -

_What do you want?_

Slowly, Victor closes his mouth. He turns his head to stare at his lap, head hanging so that his bangs sweep down like a curtain, shrouding his eyes from Yakov’s peripheral view.

“I don’t know.”

Abruptly, the car turns into the parking lot of Victor’s apartment complex. Yakov parks in front of his unit and turns to Victor just before he moves to get out of the car.

“That’s what you should do with your newfound free time, Vitya,” he says, voice oddly solemn. “Think about it. Please.”

Victor doesn’t even make a noise of acknowledgement. He unbuckles his seat belt, opens the door, and walks briskly towards his apartment, not throwing another glance towards the older man that still sits in the car, watching him leave.

He enters his home and sighs blissfully - everything is as he left it. Including Makkachin, who bounds through the place as soon as Victor turned the key in the lock. He sinks to his knees and hugs his dog, who yips and licks his face, which earns a laugh or two from the Russian.

“I missed you too, boy,” he whispers. “Were you good for Yakov? Of course you were. You’re my best boy, aren’t you?”

Makkachin barks, as if reaffirming Victor’s assessment.

“We’ll be spending a lot of time together, you know,” Victor says, rubbing the poodle’s ears. “I have to stay home for a while. Won’t that be fun?”

Makkachin barks again. Victor quirks a smile.

“That’s right. You won’t be lonely for a change! Isn’t that wonderfu -!”

Victor doesn’t get to finish his sentence as he suddenly doubles over, clutching his forehead. He’s not… in pain, exactly, but his brain suddenly feels like it’s throbbing. And… And something else happens. He hears something, like a memory, but…

_“I guess it’s been awhile since I’ve had someone over.”_

Is that his voice?

_“He gets lonely.”_

It is. But when…?

_“Maybe you should get another dog.”_

Who is that? That wasn’t Victor; he’s certain of that. That voice was softer, clipped with a different accent. Victor can’t quite place it…

Then, as soon as it starts, it stops. He’s left blinking at the hardwood surface of his floor, Makkachin pacing impatiently around him.

The dog nudges Victor in his side, startling him out of his trance.

“I…” Victor looks around. He’s alone, of course. So he must have just imagined that… Didn’t the doctor mention side effects from those pills?

He shakes his head and stands up. Well, it wasn’t a migraine. Compared to the ones he’s had in the past, that little… incident was practically a dream.

Speaking of.

“I’m going to take a nap, Makka,” he informs his dog. Makkachin huffs and pads over to his doggy bed, probably intending to do the same. Victor smiles, knowing that he’ll wake up a few hours from now with a poodle sprawled lazily on top of him on his own bed.

He starts towards his bedroom, but then something catches his eye - it’s his laptop. It’s sitting on his dining table, perfectly innocuous. Still, Victor purses his lips. He can’t remember leaving it there.

He walks over to it and turns it on. His desktop screen - a photo of Makkachin as a puppy - greets him, but nothing else is open.

On a whim, he opens the CD port.

Victor looks down at the empty CD tray for a few seconds. Then he shrugs, pushing it back in and picking up his laptop, carrying it with him back to his room. He feels like he’s forgetting something.

It’s probably nothing.

 

* * *

 

It’s warm.

That’s Eros’s first thought as he blinks himself awake. He shifts under the covers of his bed - oh, so that’s why it’s warm - and makes a soft noise. It’s warm and cozy.

He hears something move to his right, and he turns his head towards the source. To his surprise, he sees Agape, who stares back at him with his wide, green eyes. Not sure what else to do, Eros smiles at him.

“Good morning, Agape,” he says.

Agape startles.

“You’re awake!” he says happily, leaning in closer to Eros. He reaches out with a hand and touches Eros’s hair, as it to smooth it down. Eros lets him do it - he does it with Agape’s hair, after all, and it only seems fair to let him have a go.

“You were asleep for so long, Eros,” Agape says, suddenly sounding sullen. “But Dr. Nekola said you needed to.”

Eros blinks at that. “Why?”

Agape shrugs. “So you could be your best.”

Oh. That made sense.

Eros likes to be his best.

He lets Agape keep petting his hair for a few minutes, and as he does, he asks if anything else happened while he was asleep. Agape just shrugs again.

“I saw some people running around, before,” he says, tone disinterested. “I told them they weren’t supposed to run, but then Lilia came and took me to our room. Everybody had to go to bed early that day. No one would tell us why.”

Eros tilts his head. “Not even the Director?”

“I haven’t seen him,” says Agape. “I haven’t seen the lady that hangs around you, either.”

Eros processes this information, though he doesn’t know what to do with it. Agape seems to be okay, so he’s not too worried.

The door opens, causing both Dolls to look up. They see Dr. Nekola enter the room - he looks tired. There are dark circles under his eyes, like he’s been up for a long time.

The doctor catches sight of Agape first, and he sighs. “Agape, I told you, you can’t spend all your free time in here watching Eros sleep.”

Agape answers simply, “Eros isn’t sleeping anymore.”

That earns a startled reaction from the doctor, which they both watch with amusement. Dr. Nekola bustles over, checking over Eros frantically, asking him questions that he gives one-word answers to. He doesn’t get why the doctor is so concerned; he feels fine.

Eventually, Dr. Nekola steps back with a content smile. “I’m glad you’re alright, Eros. You gave us quite the scare.”

“I’m sorry,” Eros says, and he means it - he’s not supposed to scare people.

“It’s fine,” Dr. Nekola waves his hand dismissively. “We just have to run a few more tests to make sure you’re at your best, okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

“I’m going to get Guang-Hong,” he tells him. He turns to Agape, expression stern. “You can stay with him until I get back, but then you have to go, okay?”

Agape frowns, but he nods anyway.

The Dolls watch as the doctor leaves the room. Eros has since been moved to a sitting position on his bed, his back resting against a fluffed-up pillow. He looks around the room with a small smile. He can see his favorite painting on the wall, a trio of happy poodles with blue ribbons for collars.

Then he turns his head to look at the rest of the room. Eros finds himself frowning when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. There’s something missing.

Someone’s missing. Blue eyes flash in Eros’s mind...

“Eros?” Agape’s voice cuts through his thoughts. He turns to see the younger boy watching him with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he smiles benignly, but Agape doesn’t appear comforted by the gesture.

Suddenly, the blond pitches forward, burying his face in the crook of Eros’s neck, the upper half of his body on the bed. Eros feels skinny arms wrap around his shoulders.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Agape murmurs. “So you better be fine.”

Eros blinks at the wall. Then he glances down, seeing naught but a blond head of hair.

“That isn’t going to happen,” Eros says, slowly wrapping his arms around Agape to return the embrace. “I promise. I won’t leave.”

Agape nods against his neck, and Eros smiles again. Silly Agape.

Where would he even go?

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly I'm not 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I had to get it out. Interesting stuff is coming up, y'all, hold onto your butts. Not in the next chapter, though. Like, the next /next/ chapter.
> 
> ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange things are happening to Victor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another semi-uneventful chapter, but that's mostly because it's setting up the next one, which is probably going to be a bit longer. A lot is happening, y'all
> 
> Sidenote: [this is what I imagine Victor's car to be like.](https://media.ed.edmunds-media.com/infiniti/q70/2016/oem/2016_infiniti_q70_sedan_l_fq_oem_1_1280.jpg) It's not super important for the story or anything, I just like the idea of Victor owning this car.

* * *

 

 

After a few weeks, Victor is allowed to return to work at Aelita.

The work is just as boring as he remembers - nothing but filing papers and reading reports, all the while dealing with sycophantic co-workers who want a leg up in the company. Victor’s always found it tiresome, yet he does the work anyway, because… 

Well, what else is he supposed to do?

Really, before his car accident about five years ago, he was ready to disinherit himself from Aelita and go off to do… something. Victor can’t remember having a  _ plan,  _ per se, all he knew was that he wanted out. But then his car nearly careened off a bridge, slammed into a lightpost, and he wound up in the hospital for three weeks, unconscious for most of that time.

When he woke up, he felt… different. Perhaps it was his near-death experience that lit a fire under his ass, spurring him to accept his role in his grandfather’s company. Almost losing everything meant he was going to embrace what he already had, etc., etc. That was Anton’s reasoning for it, anyway.

Victor thinks that maybe the same concept is at work now; after his unfortunate tumble down the stairs, he’s been working more diligently now than he can ever recall doing so before. He gets a  _ lot  _ of work done by the time he’s ready to go home, and admittedly, the approving gaze of his grandfather gives him a satisfied feeling.

Thing is, he’s still bored out of his mind.

It doesn’t help that he’s tired, too. When Dr. Nekola mentioned that the pills’ side effects would include ‘weird dreams’, he hadn’t thought much of it. Now, though, he wishes he’d asked more questions. Almost every night since he was discharged from the hospital, Victor’s had some odd dream or hallucination. He can only remembers fragments of them, but they share a common theme - there’s stranger with dark hair and dark eyes. Victor is always looking at them. But he doesn’t know who they are.

He wonders if he’s making up an imaginary friend.

In any case, his dreams are keeping him up, and he’s exhausted. He’d stop taking the pills, but true to the doctor’s word, they’ve kept the headaches at bay. And since Victor much prefers insomnia to brain-splitting migraines, he keeps taking them.

He looks up, bleary-eyed, from a file filled with so many numbers and infographics that it feels like he’s back in school, and he rubs at his eyes. A knock comes at his office door, so once his vision clears itself, he calls out, “Come in.”

It’s his grandfather. Anton opens the door, revealing his full, well-dressed form in all its glory, but he makes no further steps into the office. He keeps his hand on the door handle, the other tucked casually into his trouser pocket.

“Victor,” he greets, sounding as amiable as Victor’s ever heard him. “I just dropped by to check on you. How are you feeling?”

Victor barely musters the energy to smile, though he knows he looks terrible anyway, with the bags under his eyes and all. “I’m fine,  _ Dedushka,  _ just a little tired from the medication.”

Anton nods. “You wouldn’t know it from your work. Very impressive numbers, Victor.”

“Thank you. I suppose I’ve been… motivated, lately.”

His grandfather smiles broadly. “That’s good to hear. But do make sure you rest properly. You know how your grandmother used to nag about your poor sleeping habits.”

Victor spares him another smile, this time more genuine at the memory of Anton’s late wife. “I remember. I’ll sleep early tonight.”

Anton gives Victor a proud look. “See that you do.”

And with that, Anton makes his exit, leaving Victor to ponder over their interaction. Anton’s seemed remarkably happier since Victor’s accident. Presumably, he’s glad to have his grandson alive and safe; Victor can remember him acting the same way after his car accident. Still, it’s so at odds with the stoic and sometimes cold man Victor grew up knowing that he can’t help but feel a tad uncomfortable about his new demeanor.

Sighing, Victor decides to let it go. It’s better that his grandfather is happy, isn’t it? He should just get back to work.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, as Victor is making his way to his car, Georgi stops him in the parking lot.

“Victor!” he calls out, making Victor turn. The other man is jogging towards him, and stops just a few feet away, barely out of breath. Victor’s hand is holding his car keys, the other hovering over the door handle of his expensive Infiniti. 

“Yes?” he asks, eyebrow raised. 

“I’m glad I caught up with you. I’ve been meaning to ask, how are you feeling?”

Victor barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m alright. Really, between you and my grandfather, it’s a wonder I haven’t been rushed back to the hospital already.”

Georgi laughs sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m just… You’re really okay? Should you be driving yourself…?”

“I  _ am  _ fine, Georgi. I appreciate your concern. I’m just exhausted.”

Georgi looks intrigued. “Oh?”

Victor waves off his concern. “It’s nothing. Just the medication I have to take for my headaches. The doctor says it’s very normal.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Georgi shifts on his feet, looking unsure. “You’d… You’d tell me if you weren’t feeling well, though, right, Victor?”

Victor blinks. “Well… I suppose so.” A small grin curls over his lips. “I didn’t know you cared so much about me, Georgi.”

Georgi shrugs. “I’ve been told I’m a very sensitive person. I get attached easily.”

Victor chuckles at that. “I imagine that can get very inconvenient.”

He sighs pitifully, a faraway look in his eye. “You have no idea.”

Victor presses a button on his keys, and the door unlocks with an audible  _ click.  _ “Anyway. I’m heading home to get some sleep, so…”

Georgi nods. “Right. Drive safely.”

“I will,” Victor replies, already opening the door of his car. But before he can slide in, Georgi calls out one more time.

“Victor?”

He tilts his head. “Yes, Georgi?”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Victor pauses. An answer is already on the tip of his tongue, though he doesn’t know where it came from. Still, he smiles sardonically.

“With my life.”

Georgi seems to accept this, and actually looks visibly relieved. “Alright. Good night, Victor.”

“Good night.”

Victor gets into his car and starts it up, driving out of the parking lot. All the while, he can see Georgi watching him from the rearview mirror; his friend hasn’t moved from his spot, though he’s taken out his cellphone and seems to be speaking with someone on the other end. 

Victor frowns, but keeps driving.

A few minutes pass, and he’s halfway to his apartment. He’s passing by the park near the apartment complex, and at this time of night it’s home to just a few stragglers. There’s a man on a bus bench, looking as tired as Victor himself feels, and a woman walking her dog. There’s a couple, too, on the frozen lake in the center of the park. They’re skating together, holding hands, the ice reflecting the fairy lights strung up in the trees; it’s all very romantic.

Victor’s forehead pulses forebodingly. Cursing, he pulls over to park his car, and hastily opens his briefcase. The bottle of pills Dr. Nekola gave him rests safely inside. He tries to twist it open, but his hands are trembling, and the bottle slips from his grip to fall onto his lap. Another pulse hits him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, anticipating the pain.

But nothing comes.

Instead, he sees flashes of something, almost like… Memories?

_ The park. The lights are up, and so are the Christmas decorations. It’s beautiful, Victor can remembering thinking. _

_ Snow is falling gently all around him, but he’s not alone. There’s presence huddled next to him, a body pressed against his own. Victor feels a hand squeezing his his. He turns his head and sees - _

_ He can’t see. Their face is indistinct; he can make out dark hair and eyes, maybe the curve of a smile on their lips? _

_ With a jolt, Victor realizes something else. This person, whoever they are, is wearing Victor’s favorite scarf around their neck. _

_ “Thank you,” they speak; it’s a man. He sounds shy. “And, um… I do mean it. It’s really beautiful, Victor.” _

And then it stops. Victor is left staring at his lap, where the pill bottle lies, though it’s blurry. A moment later, he realizes that his eyes are filled with tears.

He swipes just under his eyes, gathering the wetness on his fingers, and stares at them incredulously. 

His hands are still trembling.

He swallows thickly, picking up the pill bottle with his other hand. He stares at the bottle like it will give him answers if he glares hard enough, but of course, nothing happens. 

Abruptly, he tosses the bottle aside, ignoring the loud rattle of its contents as it hits the dashboard of his car. Instead, he fishes his cellphone out of his pocket and starts to dial a number.

It’s Georgi’s number, he realizes just before he hits ‘call’. Of course, he did promise to tell Georgi if he weren’t feeling well…

Did this count?

Victor’s finger hovers over the call button. He’s not in any pain, just… disoriented. If anything, he feels numb. Confused, certainly. What would Georgi do to help? He’d probably tell Victor to go to the doctor and ask about the pills. Victor can do that on his own.

Yes, he decides, closing out Georgi’s number, and pulling up a different one. He won’t bother his friend with something so trivial; he’ll just go straight to Dr. Nekola himself.

Victor hits call and holds the phone to his ear. His leg is bouncing impatiently as the phone rings. But not a minute passes before he hears a click, and Emil’s voice comes through on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Nekola?” he asks. “It’s Victor. Um, Nikiforov.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Nikiforov! I’ve been meaning to call you. How are you feeling?”

It’s the third time he’s been asked that today, and he feels like bashing his head against the steering wheel. But instead of doing that, he answers in as neutral a tone as he can manage.

“I’ve been… fine, I suppose. I’m not in  _ pain,  _ exactly, but…” He sighs - might as well just say it. “Those pills. I know you said I’d have strange dreams, but are hallucinations common?”

“Hallucinations?” Emil repeats, sounding curious. “Do you mean you’re having visions while you’re awake?”

Victor hears another voice, a female’s, but it’s far away, and he can’t make out what she’s saying. Maybe one of Emil’s assistants, or co-workers?

“I… Yes?” Victor rubs his temples, sighing. “I can’t remember any of the dreams I have, I just wake up feeling tired, but… During the day, sometimes I get these... flashes. I hear things.”

“What sort of things? What triggers these flashes, do you know?”

Victor almost raises an eyebrow at the now urgent tone of Emil’s voice. 

“I hear myself, mostly. Saying things I don’t remember saying. Having conversations I don’t remember having. And sometimes, there’s this… other voice. A man’s. He’s always speaking to me.” Victor bites at his lip, but Emil waits patiently, so he continues. “I don’t know what triggers it. One minute, I’m playing with my dog, and I hear him. Or just now, as I was driving by the park…”

“I see,” says Emil. There’s pause, wherein Victor hears Emil’s muffled voice, followed by the female voice from before. Then, Emil is back to addressing him. “I think we should schedule an appointment, Mr. Nikiforov. We can talk about perhaps changing your prescription to something less severe. How bad have your headaches been?”

“Nonexistent,” he answers. “The pills are doing that much, at least.”

“Good, good… Look, when are you available?”

“I don’t work on the weekend,” Victor says. Saturday is two days from now.

“Alright, that works for me. I’ll put you down for an appointment at 3:30, how does that sound?”

Victor doesn’t do anything on his days off, save for walking Makkachin in the park. But the thought of going to that park right now makes Victor’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“That sounds fine. At the hospital?”

“Ah, no, no!” Emil says quickly. “Just drop by my home office. It’s a bit out of the way, but I think it’s a far more comfortable environment. I’ll send you an email with the address, yeah?”

Victor hesitates. He glances at the pill bottle and sighs. “... Yes, that’s fine.”

“Great! I’ll see you on Saturday, then.”

The doctor hangs up, and Victor drops the hand holding his phone into his lap, groaning. His head falls back against the cushioned headrest as he closes his eyes, a single thought running through his mind.

What the  _ fuck  _ is happening to him?

 

* * *

 

“Great! I’ll see you on Saturday, then,” Emil says, then hangs up the phone. He hears a snort to his left, followed by a pained grunt, and with a flat look, he turns his head and speaks reproachfully.

“I told you to stop moving around,” he scolds. “You’re just making it worse.”

Minako glares at him, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the way she hunches over a table for support. She wearing comfortable clothes, a baggy t-shirt and sleep pants, though a small patch of red is starting to stain the material of the latter. 

Emil sighs and gets up from his seat, making his way over to her. “Here, sit down,” he says, gently guiding her to the closest chair. She goes willingly.

As soon as she’s seated, Emil rolls up the material of her sleep pants until it’s up to her upper thigh. A bandage is wrapped all around her thigh, and yes, as he suspected, blood is seeping through the off-white cloth. More than likely the result of Minako’s repeated attempts to walk around, despite Emil’s explicit warnings to  _ not  _ do that.

Handlers were a stubborn bunch.

He sighs at the sight of blood, and gets up to retrieve his medical bag, which sits on the table Minako had been using for support.

“Were you always this restless?” he asks out loud. “The last time I had to patch you up, you actually listened to me and stayed at home the entire week. Or did I dream that week up?”

“Shut up,” Minako says, though there’s no real heat behind her words. “And that was my arm, last time.  _ And  _ it was a knife wound. Not a bullet in my damn thigh.”

Emil rolls his eyes but comes back with the bag. He kneels beside the older woman and carefully begins unwrapping the old bandage. When that’s done, he cleans the wound, minding the stitches. Really, Minako is lucky that the bullet passed through relatively uneventfully. It didn’t hit any bones, so there were no fragments to worry about. 

It was odd, considering Georgi was trained to be a good shot, just like she was. He knows Minako wouldn’t have missed like that; so why did Georgi?

Furthermore, how did he manage to let her escape?

Emil redresses the wound and stands, giving Minako a firm look when she tries to do the same.

“You stay there. I’ll get us something to eat. Guang-Hong’s probably hungry, too… We should all eat dinner together. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Minako huffs. “He hasn’t spoken to us in days, Emil. And honestly, I don’t blame him. After what he had to do…”

A saddened look passes over Minako’s face, and Emil finds himself sympathizing. That last time they’d seen Guang-Hong, just a few hours ago, he was still ashen and dull-eyed. But given what he’d had to do, Minako was right; they couldn’t blame him.

Still, Emil was a doctor, and he had to take care of his charges. Who, in this case, happened to be his co-workers, too.

“I’ll ask anyway,” he says, moving to leave the room. Minako speaks up before he can reach the door.

“Nikiforov is coming on Saturday?” she asks.

He nods, though he’s not in her line of vision anymore. “Yes. Hopefully we can explain everything to him then.”

He sees Minako’s head bob down in a nod. “... Do you think he’ll help us?”

Emil frowns. “Honestly? I don’t know. But if it were me… I’d want answers. Hopefully Victor is the same.”

“Hopefully,” she echoes softly.

Emil walks back over, putting his hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. She spares him a small smile. He leaves the room shortly after, walking to the small kitchen. It’s stocked fairly well, given how suddenly the three of them had to move in. He takes a few ingredients out of the fridge and starts making sandwiches.

Just a few more days, he thinks. Things are already drastically different, but in just a few more days, they’ll change again. For better or for worse, he’s not sure. All he knows is that he has a job, a responsibility, and he’ll do it to the utmost of his ability.

For the first time in a very long time, Emil feels like he’s doing the right thing.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I got a twitter](https://twitter.com/breeanavg), in case anyone's interested. I'd say I caved to peer pressure, but honestly, I was talking to my dad about how I didn't have one, and he was like, "you should do it", and I was like, "k". So. Thanks, dad. I have no idea how twitter works, but I'll probably use it for fic updates and maybe the occasional fan art. 
> 
> Next chapter might be delayed for three reasons: One, it's long and a lot is going to happen in it. Two, schoolwork. And three, I procrastinate like a son of a bitch. (does anyone else listen to The Adventure Zone podcast? I just started following it a week ago and it's So Good.)
> 
> See you next update!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very, VERY tired as I post this - I got like two hours of sleep last night, tops - so if you spot any mistakes please let me know and I will fix them right away. Thank you.
> 
> Anyway, not super thrilled with this chapter, but y'all. I am so psyched for the next one. You'll see why...
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

 

Dr. Nekola’s home is not what Victor was expecting.

It’s tucked away in a crowded area of downtown Saint Petersburg; a two-story house that seemed a bit on the small side, but it had been several years since Victor actually set foot in a house, so he might not have been the best judge.

He parks his car on the street opposite the house, then makes his way to the front door. As far as anyone else knows, though, Victor’s at home, spending his day off with little else but his poodle and his Netflix queue. He’d thought about informing his grandfather about the visit, but in the end, he decided not to worry him. And Yakov’s been acting strangely around Victor lately, so Victor’s done his best to avoid the older man.

He rings the doorbell; a few seconds pass, and just as he contemplates checking the time on his phone, he hears the lock  _ click,  _ and the door opens, revealing not Dr. Nekola, but a woman.

Victor blinks in surprise as the woman seems to size him up. She’s pretty, with long brown hair and narrow eyes, and she’s dressed in a fairly business-like manner. What really catches Victor’s eye, though, are the metal crutches she’s using to prop herself up. She’s clearly favoring one leg over the other, but Victor figures it would be rude to ask, so instead, he smiles at her.

“Hello. Is this Dr. Nekola’s house?” he asks.

She raises an eyebrow, though he doesn’t know why, and nods.

“It is. You’re Victor.”

It’s not a question. Still, Victor replies in the affirmative, and she steps aside, allowing him to walk in. After she shuts the door, she hobbles ahead, beckoning for Victor to follow her, which he does. 

The inside of the house is much more spacious than it seemed on the outside. Mostly because it barely seems furnished. There’s a bureau, a few tables and chairs, and generic-looking art on the walls. It seems more like a picture from a catalogue than a house that’s been properly lived in. Even Victor’s apartment has more personality, though they come mainly in the form of photos of Makkachin he’s cultivated over the years.

The woman hasn’t spoken another word to Victor, she just leads him to what looks like a living room and asks him to sit down. There’s two white sofas facing each other, and in between them is a glass coffee table. Victor hesitates for a moment before taking a seat on one of the sofas. 

The woman stares at him impassively, still standing, making him squirm. Who is she? Does Dr. Nekola have a wife?

“Erm…” he begins.

“I’m the receptionist,” she tells him blandly.

“... Oh?”

Before either of them can say anything more, another figure enters the room, but once again, it’s not Dr. Nekola. It’s a young man, no older than twenty if Victor had to guess, shuffling into the room like a nervous rabbit. He’s practically curled in on himself, eyes darting frantically from the woman to Victor.

Victor frowns, but the woman gently guides the young man to the opposite sofa, whispering something Victor can’t hear to him. He relaxes, but only marginally.

Victor clears his throat. The young man stares at him. 

“You are…?”

“Guang-Hong,” the woman answers for him, and she leaves it at that.

Victor is lost.

Luckily, the next person who enters the room  _ is  _ Dr. Nekola, though he looks considerably more tired than the last time Victor saw him at the hospital. He’s got bags under his eyes and his beard has gone from neatly-trimmed to a bit overgrown. When he spots Victor, however, he has the same grin on his face as he did weeks ago.

“Ah, Victor! Sorry to keep you waiting. I see you’ve met my friends.”

Victor glances at the two strangers, who look back at him. The woman looks impatient, and the young man seems like he’ll jump at the slightest noise. He looks back at the doctor.

“Sort of.”

“They’re specialists,” Emil explains, waving his hand, “I’ve called them in to help with your case.” He sits down next to Guang-Hong and fixes Victor with a serious look before he can so much as protest. “Now, these hallucinations of yours…”

He asks for details, so Victor gives them to him. He tells him that the medication works, but the dreams and visions get more vivid and more distracting. He tells him that they keep him up, and at this point, they’re getting as annoying at his migraines. 

He doesn’t tell him that they feel like memories; things he should remember but can’t. 

As he speaks, he notices Guang-Hong staring at him once again, but it’s more intense now. The young man sits and listens as though Victor’s spouting the gospel, and his fingers twitch in his laps, like he wants to take notes. Victor is unnerved by it, and so he does his best to ignore the young man until he’s finished.

When he is, Emil folds his hands on his lap and closes his eyes, exhaling a deep breath.

“Well. That’s certainly not what we had in mind…”

Victor frowns, leaning forward. “We?”

“They were supposed to come slowly. You were meant to ease into it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the woman speaks up, prompting Victor to look at her. “Do you feel like you’ve forgotten something?”

Victor’s stomach drops, but he’s careful to keep his face neutral. “... What do you mean?”

She’s apparently undeterred by his lack of response. “These visions, or hallucinations, or whatever you’re calling them; they feel too real, don’t they? Too lifelike to be just from your imagination.”

“I still don’t follow,” Victor says, though his heart is pounding in his chest.

“Easy now,” Emil says gently, and the woman stops. Though she does cross her arms over her chest and huff, much to the doctor’s amusement. He turns back to Victor and gives a ‘what can you do’ sort of smile. “What she’s trying to say is, your head injury was a tad more serious than you were initially led to believe.”

At Victor’s befuddled look, Guang-Hong speaks up for the first time, his voice quiet.

“You have amnesia.”

Silence reigns. They all stare at Victor, and he stares back.

Then, he laughs.

“Amnesia?” Victor repeats. “You’re kidding, right?”

They don’t laugh.

“... Oh God, you’re not kidding.”

“It’s a complicated case,” explains Emil. “The pills were supposed to help you regain your memories in a smooth,  _ undetectable  _ way, but…” He glances at Guang-Hong. “Well, they’re still in the early development stage.”

Victor holds up his hands, halting the doctor’s speech. “Wait, no, no. I can’t have amnesia. That’s not… I can remember things. Everything.”

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Can you?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts, though she doesn’t even flinch. “And besides, even if I did have amnesia, why are you just telling me this now? After you’ve given me what sounds like experimental drugs that tortured me with nightmares for the past few weeks?”

“Nightmares is a harsh word, Victor,” says Emil. “They weren’t that bad, surely?”

And at that, Victor pauses. Were they? More often than not, his hallucinations were like scenes straight out of a romantic film. Scenes of himself and one man, his distorted features and soft voice filling Victor’s dreams and almost making him ache to know his face.

He must pause for too long, because the woman smirks and says, “Thought not.”

He shoots her a glare, then redirects his attention to Emil.

“Explain. Now. Or I’ll call my lawyers and sue you for malpractice.”

Emil looks wholly unconcerned with Victor’s threat, which just pisses him off more.

“Like I said, it’s a complicated case. It’s very… How should I put this… ‘selective’ amnesia. Specific bits and pieces are missing from your memories.”

“What specific ‘bits’?” Victor growls. 

In response, the woman digs into her back pocket and pulls out… a photograph? She carefully makes her way over to Victor and passes it to him, her face expectant. Victor gives her another warily glare as he takes it. He looks at the photo and freezes.

It’s a young man. Short, dark hair and eyes like melted chocolate.

“You know him,” the woman says, like it's an indisputable fact. 

But Victors never seen this man before, he knows that. As pretty as the man is, he's sure he would remember meeting him. 

So he says in reply, “I don't,” in as biting a tone as he can muster, and shoves the photo back into her waiting hands. She merely smiles at him, like what he's just said is somehow amusing. Victor is getting angrier by the second. She puts the picture away as Emil talks again.

“You do, actually. You’ve just forgotten him.”

And like a stage performance, the woman pulls out another photo and tosses it onto Victor’s lap. He catches it clumsily, about to reproach her for her brazen rudeness, when he actually sees what’s on the photo.

It’s the young man, again. The picture looks like it’s been taken from far away on a cell phone, but it’s clear enough that Victor can see the man crumpled on the ground, face scrunched up in pain. But that’s not the part that makes Victor almost drop the photo in shock.

It’s that the young man is lying in Victor’s arms.

There’s no mistaking his identity - the profile of his face is clearly visible. His eyes are drawn towards the young man, obviously concerned, and the photographer apparently caught him mid-sentence, as his mouth is left open.

Victor’s hands are trembling when Guang-Hong quietly speaks.

“We can make you remember him,” he says. “Not everything, but you’ll remember him as he is in that photo.”

“Who…” Victor has to swallow first - his throat feels like a desert. “I don’t…”

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the woman interrupts, leaning in to tower over him. He meets her intimidating gaze with a wide-eyed, almost frightened, one of his own. “Let’s get right to the point: we have a way to cure your selective amnesia. But it requires a… special procedure.”

“We’d like to have your consent before performing it,” adds Emil. 

Victor looks at the three of them, the photo still clutched tightly in his hands. “Who the hell are you people?”

Emil looks sad. “We’re just trying to help you, Victor. Please, let us.”

“I…” Abruptly, Victor stands up, abandoning the photo so that it flutters to the couch. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he doesn’t feel safe here. He needs to go. “I’m sorry, I… I need a few days to think about it.”

Emil frowns, sharing a look with the woman. Guang-Hong is staring at his lap, seemingly disconnected from the rest of them. Finally, Emil looks back at Victor and nods.

“Of course. Take as much time as you need, Victor. You have my number.”

Victor doesn’t bother to acknowledge him as he strides out of the room as fast an humanly possible, then out of the house and across the street, back to his car. He rests his palms on top of the car and breathes out slowly, willing his heart to slow its rapid pace.

“What the  _ hell,”  _ he murmurs under his breath. He runs a hand through his hair, fingers pushing silver bangs out of his face. After another long exhale, he digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone. But then he hesitates.

He should call  _ someone,  _ surely. A doctor just admitted to testing experimental drugs on him, for God’s sake. And selective amnesia… No matter what Victor’s been feeling these past few weeks, the idea of a ‘special procedure’ definitely sets off warning bells.

Maybe he should call his grandfather. After all, he’s pretty sure Anton picked out Dr. Nekola for Victor after his accident. He would know the man better than most. But at the same time, he feels uneasy bringing this to Anton. He knows his grandfather has a penchant for… ‘retribution’. Harsh retribution, at that. While Victor’s having doubts about Dr. Nekola and his staff, he certainly doesn’t want to incur his grandfather’s wrath upon them. 

Not  _ yet,  _ anyway. No, Victor needs to talk this through with someone else, first. Someone he trusts.

Someone he trusts with his life.

So Victor goes through his contacts, scrolls to the names listed under G, and is about to dial Georgi’s number, when a sharp pain pierces him in the back of the neck. He gasps, staggers forward, and slumps over the hood of his car, eyes wide with shock. Sluggishly, he lifts his hand to reach for the back of his neck, only to feel a small metal cylinder sticking out of his skin. 

He hears the click of heels on pavement. It’s accompanied by another sound… metallic clangs that echo every other footstep.

He tries to move, but he only succeeds in standing upright for a few seconds before he crumples to the ground, like his blood has been replaced with lead. A pair of heels enter his vision, along with a pair of crutches. He forces himself to look up, and sees the woman standing above him, tucking a gun into a holster hidden under her jacket. Victor’s vision begins to dim, and he feels his eyelids grow heavy - has he been drugged?

“Sorry about that,” he hears her voice distantly, like she’s several feet away rather than just in front of him. “But trust me, you’ll thank us later.”

Victor doesn’t reply; he’s already unconscious before the words finish leaving her mouth.

 

* * *

 

_ “So you’ll take Haruhiko, then?” _

A male voice. Accented - Swiss, maybe? It sounds familiar. He sees a man sitting across from him in a large office with an impressive view of the city. He’s blond, and he looks bored.

_ “Da,”  _ his own voice replies.  _ “Haruhiko, please.” _

The scene shifts - now he’s in a bed, a hotel bed, and the blond Swiss is nowhere in sight. Before him now is a gorgeous Asian man, naked, gazing at him with a shy expression. Hickies decorate his throat and collarbones, and he feels an odd surge of satisfaction at that.

_ “I’ve never been with anyone so… Can I see you again?”  _ he asks, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

Before he can hear his reply, the scene changes yet again. There’s a video, on a laptop - his laptop. It’s the Asian man again, but something is different about him. He’s crying.

Another shift.

The Asian man, now with a different hairstyle, huffs at something he’s said, but a pink tinge colors his cheeks. They’re in his home, Makkachin draped across the man’s lap like he belongs there. He finds himself warmed by the image the two present.

Now they’re in a hotel room again. He’s towering over the man, who moans and gasps beneath him. The sounds of flesh upon flesh cannot hope to drown out the man’s loud noises of pleasure, and he  _ loves it. _

They’re in a park - it’s beautiful and snowy. His arms are wrapped around the man, whom he kisses deeply. He feels giddy and smug simultaneously. Then he reaches down to squeeze the man’s bottom, and he scolds him for it.

_ “Victor! We’re in public!” _

He’s amused by this behavior, he remembers. But then everything changes again. They’re still in the park, but another man, older and haggard, is harassing them. The next thing he knows, the Asian man has fallen to the ground, he’s just punched the intruder, and now he’s cradling the man in his arms.

He remembers feeling distressed. A heavy weight settles in his gut as a woman takes the man away, and he knows that that’s the last time he sees him in person.

Then the woman is back - but they’re in a familiar space now. His apartment? They’re watching something on his laptop. It’s the man, he realizes, but he also realizes that he’s on the screen alongside him. 

Someone’s at the door.

Confusion.

Panic.

_ Fear. _

Victor wakes up.

 

* * *

 

Victor’s vision is blurred, like someone’s smudged an oil painting that he’s viewing through a fog. His head is pounding, though it’s not the familiar sensation of a migraine. No, the pounding subsides fairly quickly, and when it does, he’s left to rapidly blink until his vision clears.

He’s staring at a plain ceiling, which has several lights embedded into it. He’s lying on his back, but he startles when he realizes that he’s restrained. His wrists and ankles are cuffed to some kind of chair. He struggles uselessly for a few moments, when a voice cuts through the air.

“Hey, hey, relax,” the voice says. It’s a man - Dr. Nekola. “You should probably sit still for a while.”

“I think it’s the restraints,” a softer voice says. That’s… what was his name? Guang-Hong, yes.

Whatever he’s lying in moves forward, like a reclining chair being put back in its proper position. Dazedly, Victor registers the three figures in front of him. Dr. Nekola is directly next to him, patting Victor reassuredly on the back. He sees Guang-Hong further away, half of his body hidden behind some kind of console with wires spilling haphazardly from it. 

And then, right in front of him, is - 

“Miss Okukawa?” he croaks, voice weak from - well, whatever it is he just went through. 

The Japanese woman, who’d been standing very stiffly, her arms crossed over his chest, visibly sags with relief upon hearing her name. She smiles gently at him - an action he’s not used to in the slightest, but he finds himself appreciating it anyway.

“I’m assuming,” she begins, walking closer, “that since you remember my name, you’re back with us? Memory-wise?”

“I…” He licks his lips. She begins to unbuckle his restraints as he replies. “I think so?”

“Tell me what you remember,” she says.

“You… were at my apartment,” he begins carefully. At her nod, he goes on. “You had a video for me from the Director.”

“What was the video about?”

Victor hesitates. “... Yuuri Katsuki.”

Minako’s answering tone is soft. “And what was special about the video?”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I was in it.”

She unbuckles the last restraint around his ankle, and with help from Dr. Nekola, Victor gets out of the chair. His legs wobble, like he hasn’t stood up before, but he manages to not fall.

Suddenly Victor remembers something else, too.

“Georgi showed up,” he says quietly. “He…”

Minako grimaces. “Yeah. I’d prefer to not be reminded, thank you.”

“And, he… He called me something. What was it…?”

“Pragma.”

Victor stares at Minako, whose mouth twists as she says the word.

“What is that?” Victor asks.

Emil looks distressed as well. “It’s… Well, it’s a callsign. One of the names we use for the Actives.”

Victor’s brow furrows. “So why did Georgi call me - ?” He stops himself, face going pale. His eyes are wide with horror as the answer creeps up on him. But that’s impossible. He wasn’t…

“For some reason,” cuts in Emil, likely sensing Victor’s imminent breakdown, “you have the same neuro-linguistic programming that enables you to respond to a handler the same way an Active does. That doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re a… Well, you know.”

“We don’t know  _ what  _ you are. But we know that you don’t, either,” says Minako. “All we know is that we’ve all been lied to.”

“By  _ who?”  _ Victor asks desperately.

Emil and Minako look grim, but it’s Guang-Hong who answers, in a dull, monotone voice.

“The Dollhouse.”

Emil spares the younger man a pitying glance before turning back to Victor. “I’m the head physician of the Saint Petersburg Dollhouse,” he explains. “Some of the higher-ups called me in one night and told me to look after a ‘Victor Nikiforov’ who was just admitted to the Euromed Clinic. I did, no questions asked… until Minako here showed up on my doorstep, nursing a bullet wound caused by her fellow handler. She told me everything she knew, and, well…” He scratches his beard anxiously. “After Director Giacometti went missing, I knew something was wrong.”

Victor blinks. “Wh… What happened to Director Giacometti?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Guang-Hong flinch. The other two adults cast somber glances his way.

“... At the Dollhouse,” Minako begins quietly, “there are certain… disciplinary procedures. For when a staff member steps out of line.”

“And Chris really stepped out of line,” adds Emil. “They sent him to the Attic.”

Victor only frowns. It sounds ominous. “What’s the ‘Attic’?”

“It’s where the bad employees go,” Emil says. “We don’t actually know what goes on in there, but we do know that they have to go through a very painful wiping procedure before they go in. From what I’ve heard, it’s… traumatic, both to endure and to watch.”

Slowly, Victor looks over at Guang-Hong. Minako’s gone to his side, placing an arm around his shoulder. He’s trembling.

“Guang-Hong is the head programmer at the Dollhouse,” he hears Emil explain. “He… He had to do the procedure on Director Giacometti.”

“They made me,” Guang-Hong whispers. “I didn’t want to. They  _ made  _ me.”

“We know,” soothes Minako, but the look on her face isn’t very reassuring. She looks heartbroken. “We know you didn’t want to do it.”

Victor feels a stab of pity for the boy he doesn’t know. He feels another for Director Giacometti, and yet more for the coworkers who are clearly devastated by this. But then a thought occurs to him.

“Isn’t… Isn’t Director Giacometti the one who knew the most about Eros? About me and my connection to him?”

Minako nods, not letting go of the still-shaking programmer in her arms. “He is. Which means that if we want answers, we’ll need Chris.”

“But… if he’s in this ‘Attic’, how are we supposed to…?”

“The Attic is underneath the Dollhouse,” says Emil. “Really, we should’ve called it the Basement, but I suppose Attic sounded more foreboding. But anyway,” he waves his hand dismissively, “if you’re willing to help us… We can free Chris, and he can explain this whole mess to us in person.”

“So?” prompts Minako.

All three look at Victor with a variety of different expressions. Emil looks pleading. Minako is a cross between grimly determined and hopeful. And Guang-Hong still has that broken look, one that Victor finds hard to stomach.

He pauses, thinking about all that’s occurred in such a short period of time. There are so many questions buzzing around in his head, he doesn’t even know where to start. Is he a Doll? Who made him one, if he is? What’s his relationship to Yuuri Katsuki?

Victor doesn’t know these people - at least, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t. But he does know that he wants - no,  _ needs  _ answers. And if they’re his best shot at getting them...

“Yes,” he finally says. “Yes, I’ll help you.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh, I don't remember where they said the Attic was in the Dollhouse TV show. It could've been in a separate location, but for the purposes of this story, it's underneath the main facility. //shrug
> 
> So yes, next chapter will be fun. And hopefully we'll see a bit of Eros again. ;)
> 
> ALSO: for funsies, I drew Yuuri's different forms in this fic. They're on my tumblr [here](http://persephoneggsy.tumblr.com/post/160866291078/tfw-youre-so-lame-you-draw-fanart-for-your-own)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Infiltrating the Dollhouse.
> 
> (mission impossible theme)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very hard to get out, but I'm pretty proud of the end result. That being said, I am exhausted as fuck.
> 
> There's a Hamilton reference somewhere in here, should be pretty easy to spot. :>

* * *

 

 

Over the course of the next two weeks, Victor makes periodic visits to what Emil has dubbed ‘the Safehouse’.

According to the doctor, a former executive at the Dollhouse commissioned the building on the off chance that the corporation’s activities attracted… unwanted attention. That was the official story, anyway; Minako claimed that he just wanted his own private mini-Dollhouse for ‘reasons’, and since he had the money and clearance to do so, the rest of the board simply let him. 

That same executive wound up getting shot by his ex-wife, and as far as the Dollhouse knows, the Safehouse was never completed. Minako only knew about it through Chris, who’d revealed its status to her a long time ago. Even then, they were only rumors. It had been Guang-Hong who tracked the place down - it was built with the same equipment he used at his lab, and said equipment leaves a very specific trail, even when not in use. After updating the security, the programmer made sure the building lived up to its name, and as such, it became the base of operation for their little renegade group.

Victor’s been to the Safehouse four times since his first visit. He’s been careful to not arouse suspicion from anyone at Aelita, and so far, it seems like he’s in the clear. As far as anyone else knows, he spends his days off like he always has - alone at home with Makkachin.

He’s in the Safehouse now, sitting at the same sofa with Minako to his left, and Emil and Guang-Hong across them. The glass coffee table has been cleared of knick-knacks, and on its surface rests a detailed blueprint, stolen from the Dollhouse database by Guang-Hong.

Technically, only one of them has the clearance to get into the Attic, and this is something Emil stresses. Certainly not Minako, who’s been classified as a ‘rogue element’ since her run-in with Georgi - not that anyone else at the Dollhouse has any idea what happened to her - and Emil is merely the doctor for the Actives, and thus he has no business in the Attic. So it falls to Guang-Hong, the head programmer, to go in and rescue Chris.

Thing is, Guang-Hong doesn’t want to do it alone.

Or rather, he can’t. Once he breaks Chris out, he and anyone else who assisted him would be marked as enemies of the Dollhouse, and he’d never be able to come back. It isn’t like he really wants to come back, anyway, but the fact of the matter is, neither Minako nor Emil can help him, watch his back during the rescue. Minako can’t go in at all, and Emil needs to keep his cover for as long as possible, so that they’ll have a man on the inside.

This is where Victor comes in.

He raises an eyebrow at the dark wig and colored contacts Minako pulls out of nowhere and holds in her hands.

“Is this really necessary?” he asks, somewhat disdainfully. 

“You’re clearly important to the Dollhouse, for whatever reason. We can’t risk someone recognizing you as yourself,” replies Emil. “But Guang-Hong needs somebody as backup. Ergo, you need a disguise.”

Minako tosses the wig and contact case at Victor, almost gleefully. “Try them on.”

He catches them with a disgruntled huff. 

“You’re the one who agreed to this,” she reminds him.

And Victor can’t exactly refute that, so he merely glowers down at the items. He had agreed to this, whatever  _ this  _ was, and Victor was nothing if not a man of his word. 

Still… Infiltrating the Dollhouse seemed like a bad idea, no matter how carefully they planned. He hadn’t been to the actual facility itself ever since his first meeting with Director Giacometti, and even then, he’d caught only glimpses of its day-to-day operation. Having  _ him  _ as an undercover agent didn’t seem like the wisest decision.

Their plan was this: Victor was going to accompany Guang-Hong to the Dollhouse, under the alias of a new potential handler for Eros, since Minako was… absent. Guang-Hong had already faked the sufficient amount of paperwork should anyone try and question them, but all he had to do was stand as a lookout while the programmer snuck into the Attic to free Chris. Then, hopefully, the three of them would book it out of there without getting caught…

And then Chris would answer their questions, whether he wanted to or not.

The thought of finally not being in the dark anymore is enough to motivate Victor. He excuses himself to the bathroom of the Safehouse to put on his makeshift disguise. The wig fit neatly over his silver locks, and the contacts, a dark green color, weren’t difficult to put in. He looks at himself in the mirror appraisingly. Of course, to anyone who knew Victor intimately, they’d immediately know it was him - his facial structure was unchanged, after all. But anyone else might have to look twice just to be sure, and Victor assumes that’s all they need.

He walks back out to the living room, where Minako nods thoughtfully at his new appearance.

“You actually look normal,” she says, causing Victor to frown.

“Implying that I otherwise don’t?”

“What man in his twenties has naturally silver hair?” she shoots back.

“... Fine.”

Emil chuckles at their banter. Then he turns to Guang-Hong, who has been poring over the blueprints for the last half-hour. “Everything ready?”

The programmer hums, mostly to himself. “There’s a maintenance tunnel we can use to escape. It leads to an old building on the opposite block.” He looks up at Minako, and she nods; she’ll be there. “Okay… Then it looks like we’re set.”

Emil turns to Victor. “Is everything ready on your end?”

“Yes. I put in the request for another day off last week. I’m good to go.”

“Okay,” the doctor inhales a long breath, then exhales it slowly. “Tomorrow morning, then. You go in, get Chris, then get out as fast as you can.”

“We know,” Guang-Hong says. “We’ll be ready.”

Victor shares a look with the others. Despite their careful planning, they all have the same question in their eyes.

Will they?

 

* * *

 

Getting into the Dollhouse is actually quite easy.

Getting out of it, Victor’s cynical mind thinks, especially with another person in tow, will be another story entirely. But for now, he follows quietly behind Guang-Hong, his disguise set in place, completed with an off-the-rack black suit Minako insisted would help complete the illusion, since most handlers don’t wear three-piece suits worth half their year’s salary. To his credit, Victor had only grumbled a little before sucking it up and putting it on. Emil will arrive later, once his shift actually begins, and he will pretend to be none the wiser about the events that will transpire that morning.

Guang-Hong easily explains Victor’s presence to the security guards as they enter the facility via elevator. They barely glance at him once they learn he’s a prospective hire, so he and Guang-Hong are able to make it to the latter’s lab without much incident.

It’s a little odd, being back in this place, especially knowing what he now knows. At first, he snickered at the Dolls, parading around like lobotomized cattle, smiling at everything with the naivety of children. Now he’s almost frightened of them. Who were they before, and did they really sign up for this? Granted, the facility looks more like a high-end spa than your average human trafficker’s headquarters, but still. 

Yuuri Katsuki’s tear-filled eyes flash in his mind.

It’s that thought that makes Victor shake out of his daze and stares firmly at the ground as he follows the programmer through the facility. If the younger man notices his discomfort, he thankfully doesn’t say anything, and just holds open the door for Victor once they reach his lab. There’s a passageway from there that will lead them to the Attic, provided nothing gets in their way.

… Which of course, it invariably does.

“Guang-Hong!” a female voice calls out. They both startle and turn, and Victor sees a pretty young woman with short black hair and bright red lipstick striding towards them. A tanned man follows behind her, dressed in the same muted sweatpants and t-shirts that the Actives wore, indicating his status as a Doll. If the dopey smile on his face hadn’t immediately given it away, anyway.

“... Isabella,” Guang-Hong forces himself to greet her, putting on a fake smile.

“Philautia needs a treatment,” she says, stopping just short of a few feet away. The Doll, Philautia, also stops. “PA-#14, please.”

Guang-Hong’s fingers twitch around the door handle, but he merely nods, face not betraying a thing. 

“Sure thing,” he replies, voice steady. He turns to Victor. “Sorry, Sergei, but your interview will have to wait a while. Just wait for me to get this done, okay?”

Victor almost forgets his fake name for a moment, but luckily, he manages to react without arousing suspicion. He too nods, noticing Isabella’s curious stare in his periphery.

Guang-Hong motions them all to come inside, and they do. His lab is enormous, decorated more like a cozy living room than a professional space. There’s a huge computer setup with three monitors, a well-worn couch and a mini-fridge, and knick-knacks, presumably of things Guang-Hong likes, like tv shows and movies. There’s also an open door that leads to a darker room, but Victor can see the lights of another computer setup, and what looks to be a dentist’s chair in the upright position.

He assumes that it’s the room where ‘it’ happens.

Victor lags behind while Guang-Hong leads Isabella and the Active to the room with the chair. The door is shut behind them, cutting them off from Victor’s line of sight.

Everything is quiet.

Relatively.

He can still hear the dulled sounds of the Actives and staff outside. Guang-Hong’s lab is on the upper level of the facility, and there’s a large window placed so that one can observe the activity down below. So that’s what Victor does. He stands, hand behind his back, watching with an almost morbid curiosity. He wonders, briefly, if Eros is down there, or if he’s on an engagement somewhere else.

His mouth twists unpleasantly at the idea, and at the same time, the door to the lab opens, causing him to look towards it. A middle-aged man with a long ponytail and truly impressive eyebrows is standing in the doorway. He blinks at Victor, who blinks back.

“Who are you?” he asks, eyes narrowed. “Where’s Guang-Hong?”

“Uh…” Victor clears his throat and turns away from the window to face him. “Guang-Hong is busy with another Active,” he gestures towards the closed door. Lights are flashing through the small gap by the floor.

The man seems to relax then. “Ah. That answers one question. As for the other…?”

“I’m Sergei,” he introduces himself. “I’m being interviewed for the open handler position.”

“Oh, you’re it?” The man laughs and steps away from the door, waving to someone just outside. “How lucky. I have your prospective ward right here.”

And then, to Victor’s surprise, Eros himself walks through the door. Though, he’s not dressed in the soft workout clothes that Philautia was. He’s got skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder top on, and his eyes are bored, obvious even through the smoky-eye makeup and mascara he wears.

Oblivious to Victor’s stunned state, the ponytailed man pats Eros on the shoulder. “Tell Guang-Hong to give Haru here his treatment, then send him off to eat. Poor guy’s client didn’t even pay for breakfast.”

Eros - or rather, Haruhiko Nanami - snorts. “You’d think he’d owe me, after what he asked me to do.”

The man offers him another conciliatory pat, then nods at Victor once before turning to leave. Victor is about to call out for him to wait, and then the door is closed and he’s alone with Haru.

He tenses as the man looks him over.

“Shitty suit,” he observes.

Victor forces himself to relax. He puts on a smile. “That’s what I said.”

Haru walks over to the couch and flops down on it, crossing his legs as he spreads arms out over the back of the couch. Victor’s gaze follows him warily, like he’s expecting him to do  _ something.  _ Though he’s not sure what.

“So, you’re new here?” Haru asks, examining the nails on one of his hands.

“Sort of. I don’t have the job yet,” lies Victor, turning away to look back out the window. He’s not really sure he can handle looking at Haru - or Eros, or Yuuri, or whoever the fuck he is - right now.

“How hard can the job be? You just bring people to a doctor for treatments.”

Is that how they thought of it? Victor’s distantly intrigued, but in response he only shrugs. “Interviews are a necessity.”

He hears Haru chuckle. “Sure. In my line of business, though, there’s not a lot of room for talk. Not unless my client  _ wants  _ to, which rarely ever happens.”

Victor feels his fingers clench into a fist, involuntarily. A surge of jealousy swells within him, though he quickly tamps it down. 

Haru goes on, unaware. “Take my last client, for example. Old fucker grabs me the minute I walk through his door and has his way with me. Didn’t say more than a couple sentences. Aside from, you know, ‘heat-of-the-moment’ stuff.”

Victor grits his teeth and gives a noncommittal hum, resolutely  _ not  _ looking at the Doll.

There’s a pause, and then Haru speaks up again.

“To tell you the truth, I usually prefer my younger clients.”

Victor keeps staring out the window, at a group of Actives doing yoga in the center of the facility. “Oh?” he makes himself sound interested. 

“Mm. They’re just more… virile.”

Victor gulps at the now sultry tone he’s taken on. And Haru’s voice sounds closer, too. When he turns his head, he finds out why; Haru is walking towards him, hips swaying enticingly with each step. Victor turns on his heel and tries to walk away, but Haru reaches him first, placing a hand on his chest which somehow makes his entire body freeze in place.

Haru leans against him, allowing Victor to feel the warm emanating from his body. He’s got that little smirk on his face that Victor recognizes from so long ago, and he’s hit with an inappropriate wave of nostalgia.

Haru plays with the top button of Victor’s suit jacket. “How old are you, Sergei?”

“I’m - uh…” Victor clears his throat. “I’m twenty-six.”

The Doll’s smile widens. “That’s a good age. Maybe, before my treatment, I can show you what I mean by ‘virile’...”

Victor finally wills himself to take a step back, much to Haru’s disappointment. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Haru-... Mr. Nanami.”

Haru pouts, and it quite unfairly shows off his pink, full lips, to which Victor’s eyes are riveted. “After my treatment, then?” he persists, stepping back into Victor’s personal space. He wraps his arms around Victor’s shoulders, smiling once again as the taller man inhales sharply. “Come on. You’re so  _ cute,  _ Sergei.”

A familiar cologne hits his nose. “I-I still don’t…”

The door that Guang-Hong and the others disappeared behind suddenly opens again, and Philautia is the first to walk out. He sees Haru and Victor in their… compromising position and visibly jolts.

“My word!” the Active shouts, covering his eyes. His ears are tipped with red. “Have some decency, for goodness sake!”

Haru cocks an eyebrow just as Isabella and Guang-Hong also step out. The former laughs at her Active’s scandalized expression, then catches sight of Haru and Victor and whistles.

“Well. Looks like he’s going to get along just fine, isn’t it?”

Guang-Hong grimaces at Victor, who gives him a ‘help me’ stare in return. “... Yeah, I guess so.”

“Come on Mr. Abernathy,” Isabella starts pushing the still-sputtering Philautia towards the door, “Lady Ansley isn’t going to wait forever.”

“R-Right, quite right,” he says, allowing her to maneuver him out of the room. Once they’re gone, Guang-Hong clears his throat and addresses Haru.

“Mr. Nanami. Here for your treatment, I assume?”

“Yeah.” Haru unwinds his arms from Victor, who allows himself to relax, and starts walking towards the programmer. Guang-Hong lets him step into the side room first, then follows after. And after a brief moment of hesitation, so does Victor.

Haru settles down in the chair with all the ease of someone who’s probably done this a thousand times. He looks decidedly bored as Guang-Hong fiddles with the controls of his setup, until his eyes catch sight of Victor lingering in the doorway. He winks, and Victor looks away.

Then Guang-Hong pushes a button, and the lights go crazy. Haru gives a full-body flinch, his eyes momentarily wide with pain, and for a good ten seconds, he remains like that, twitching in the chair as the lights flash around them. And then, finally, it stops; the lights return to normal, and Haru is still, blinking his eyes rapidly. 

He turns his head to look at Guang-Hong. When he opens his mouth to speak, his voice is softer, less sensual, and his eyes duller.

“Did I fall asleep?” he asks.

Guang-Hong offers a small smile. “For a little while.”

“... Shall I go now?”

“If you’d like.”

Haru gets up - only Victor realizes now that it’s not Haruhiko Nanami anymore. This is Eros, back in his Doll-like state. What had Guang-Hong called it before?  _ Tabula rasa?  _

Victor swallows the lump in his throat as Eros approaches the door. The Doll pauses for just a moment, having just noticed Victor’s presence.

He smiles. “Hello.”

Victor only stares back. “... Hi.”

“Eros,” calls out Guang-Hong, with a hint of impatience in his tone. “After you get changed, why don’t you get something to eat?”

Eros seems to consider this for a moment. “... Okay. I’m hungry.”

With another smile directed at Victor, Eros walks past him and out of the lab. Victor watches him leave, his stomach still churning. Actually seeing it, the process of how the Dollhouse operates, has left him extremely uncomfortable, though he’s not sure why. He  _ knew  _ that none of it was real, that Eros was just a blank slate for other people’s fantasies, but…

“You certainly work fast,” Guang-Hong’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. He glances at the programmer, who is frowning at him in clear disapproval. “You can’t keep it in your pants for a few damn minutes?”

Victor scowls back. “That was  _ him,  _ not me. He just started… flirting.”

At that, Guang-Hong looks confused. “Wait, he was attracted to  _ you _ ?”

“... The tone you said that in is more than a little insulting.”

“No, I mean…” Guang-Hong runs a hand through his hair. “When we program the Dolls, they’re just meant to be attracted to the client. No one else. They can think they’ve been in love before, but the client has to be special. That Haru was programmed for somebody else, he shouldn’t have been attracted to  _ you.” _

“Well…” Victor shifts uncomfortably. A small part of him, however, feels something else. He hesitates to call it pride. “He was. So. And he seemed to really dislike his client, too.”

Guang-Hong shakes his head. “Eros has gotten so weird ever since you came along.”

Victor looks confused, but the programmer pushes past him without further explanation.

“Come on. We don’t have a lot of time before Minako gets to the rendezvous point.”

Mouth still set in a frown, Victor silently follows Guang-Hong to the other door - the one that leads to the Attic.

 

* * *

 

Victor and Guang-Hong come out of a long, winding staircase, only to find a bolted door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’. Guang-Hong types a code into the keypad, lets the door take a retinal scan, and it unbolts, swinging open for them. And just as Guang-Hong said there would be, there’s a guard standing just beyond the threshold. He’s short but muscular, with an undercut and a severe expression.

To Victor’s surprise, Guang-Hong looks shocked to the see the guard. Didn’t he know there would be one?

“A-Altin,” the programmer stammers. “What are you - ?”

The guard, Altin, raises an eyebrow, but his gaze zeros in on Victor as he replies.

“I’m just doing a routine check of the Attic,” he replies in a monotone voice. “What are you doing here? And who is this?”

“This is, uh… S-Sergei,” Guang-Hong says, recovering. “My new assistant.”

Altin narrows his eyes. “I wasn’t told you were receiving a new assistant.”

“You didn’t?” The young man feigns a look of confusion. “I sent you the email a week ago! Honestly, what good is our Head of Security if he can’t even check his email properly…”

Altin looks displeased, though not angry, at his words. After glowering for a few seconds, which might just be the most agonizing few seconds of Victor’s life, he shakes his head. “I’m not tech proficient, let alone a genius like you. Make the interface easier to use.”

Guang-Hong gives a mock salute. “I’ll get right on that. Right after I finish giving Sergei a tour of the facility.” He grabs Victor’s arm and starts to tug him past Altin, who watches with a stoic expression.

“Mr. Ji?” he calls out, just as Guang-Hong and Victor are about to turn the corner. They both pause and turn their heads back to look at him. “You should know, your boyfriend keeps calling the office and asking about you.”

Guang-Hong grimaces. “Oh? Sorry, I’ll… talk to him about that.”

Altin doesn’t appear convinced. “Something happen between you two? A lovers’ quarrel?”

His mouth twists, and Victor almost winces as the programmer’s grip on his arm grows surprisingly tighter.

“... Something like that. I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

Altin stares at him for a few more seconds before he nods, then turns away to continue his round. Victor breathes a quiet sigh of relief, and they continue on their way. Though, Guang-Hong is noticeably more somber. He thinks of asking him about this ‘boyfriend’ - Emil mentioned him before, but Guang-Hong’s never said a word about him. 

But, well, that’s a topic for friends to discuss, so Victor stays quiet.

The Attic is comprised of a veritable maze of hallways, but Guang-Hong already knows exactly where to go. He and Victor navigate their way through the maze and come to a stop at a door - it’s unremarkable, plain steel, just like the dozens of other doors they’ve passed along the way. But the programmer looks at it with conviction, so Victor assumes they’re in the right place.

Guang-Hong pushes his hand against a panel built in next to the door, and seconds later, a beep resounds and it slides open, revealing the contents of the room.

A brief feeling of relief surges through Victor as he sees the familiar figure of Director Giacometti there, but it quickly melts into horror at the state the other man is in.

The Director is lying on his back on a square, glass pod, which is filled with some sort of dark green, gelatinous fluid, though he’s only half-submerged in the substance. A sheet of translucent plastic covers the top of the pod. There’s a hole around his mouth, where a feeding tube has been inserted. And most chilling of all, three needles are stuck into the Director’s forehead, seemingly connected to the ceiling, and the wires they are attached to are disturbingly red, like the blood is being sucked out of him - or something else in being pumped in.

Victor can only stare in stunned silence. Meanwhile, Guang-Hong only flinches at the scene before moving forward, to a display screen on the wall to the right, where the Director’s full name and vitals are being projected.

Cautious, as Guang-Hong begins messing with the screen, Victor steps closer for a better look. He looks rough, like he’s just come from a fight; a black eye, a split lip, bruises along his neck… Had there been a struggle? Did he fight against this?

The Director’s eyes are closed, though his eyebrows are knit together in a way that suggests anxiety. His fingers twitch at his sides. When Victor glances at the screen containing his vitals, he notices that his heart is beating quickly. Far too quickly.

“What’s happening to him?” he finds himself asking, after glancing back at the door and making sure no one is around to hear them.

Guang-Hong’s hands pause for only a moment before he goes back to his hacking.

“Nightmares,” is all he says. “Constant nightmares.”

Victor looks back at the Director. Former Director, he supposes, now. To be trapped in a never-ending nightmare,  _ that’s  _ the Dollhouse’s punishment for its out-of-favor employees?

“... And…  _ you  _ did this to him?”

Guang-Hong cringes, looking back at Victor with a glare. “I didn’t  _ want  _ to. They made me.”

“There are other people here, though, yes?” Victor continues. “Did you not do the same to them?”

“...” The programmer swallows. “Not… Not all of them.”

“ _ Why?”  _ Victor steps away from the former Director’s prone body. “Why would you continue to work for people who would… would do  _ this?”  _ He gestures at said body, and the younger man grimaces.

“I thought…” He sighs. “I thought the other people deserved it. They betrayed the Dollhouse, put the Actives’ lives in danger. One man in here was raping his Doll, the person he was supposed to look after. He  _ deserves  _ to be here.” Guang-Hong turns back to the screen, so Victor can’t see his face anymore. “... You know, they offered me this job right after I graduated high school. I was so excited when they told me about the Dollhouse. I thought it was the coolest thing ever.”

Victor frowns, but lets him continue. All the while, Guang-Hong continues to hack the interface.

“They said it was a public service. Everyone was a volunteer, I had nothing to feel guilty about. I just…” He shakes his head. “Ever since Chris and Eros… Hell, even back with the old Pragma, things just haven’t… felt right. If we’re so innocent, why do all these bad things keep happening?” He shudders. “... I can’t even look my boyfriend in the eye anymore.”

He hits a final button, and Christophe’s screen goes blank.

There’s an immediate reaction - the blond lurches, back arching out of the green substance, his eyes flying open. He’s gagging, choking on the feeding tube, and hurriedly, Victor rushes over to gingerly pull it out. He winces as Christophe coughs and sputters, still trapped under that layer of plastic. Victor tosses the tube aside, and by then, Guang-Hong has gone to the man’s other side, removing the three needles in his forehead. 

Christophe looks around the room wildly, limbs thrashing within his confines. Guang-Hong utters soft words of “It’s okay, it’s me, you’re going to be okay,” as he and Victor both peel back the plastic, freeing the man from his prison. 

He hurries to sit up, still coughing. The substance drips off his hair and back. When he finally stops, he looks blearily at the two men standing before him.

He blinks. “What… Guang-Hong…? What are you - ?”

“No time,” urges Guang-Hong, tugging the man’s arm so that he’ll get out of the pod. Victor helps him out, steadying Christophe on his feet. “An alarm is going to go off any minute, and the Head of Security is a lot closer than we’d planned for.”

Christophe still looks hopelessly lost, but to their relief, he doesn’t question a word of it; he just tosses a look back to the pod and then nods his head.

“Get me out of here,” he rasps. 

Guang-Hong and Victor each allow Christophe to loop an arm around their shoulders, and together, they walk out of the room. There are no guards in the hallway, yet. Guang-Hong’s face is neutral as they make their way to the old maintenance tunnel they found on the blueprints.

As they walk, Christophe manages to lift his head to peer at Victor.

“... Mr. Nikiforov? Is that… you?”

Victor offers him a strained smile. “Surprise.”

Miraculously, they escape unseen. It’s a little anticlimactic, Victor feels, before he reminds himself that they should be counting themselves lucky. It’s no trouble at all getting to the rendezvous point, where Minako is waiting with an unmarked car.

Her lip trembles upon seeing Christophe in their arms, but she holds herself together and merely helps them get him into the back seat. Guang-Hong sits beside him, as Victor and Minako go sit in the front. 

She starts the car, and then they speed off, their prize still damp with green goo, coughing quietly into his fist. Victor sees Minako’s hands tighten on the wheel. He can’t tell if she’s pissed or relieved. Likely both.

He sinks back into his seat and sighs.  _ Soon,  _ he thinks, looking at Christophe via the rear view mirror. Soon, he’ll get his answers.

But for now, no one says a word as Minako drives them all back to the Safehouse.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be shorter, but I am officially on Summer Break, so hopefully I can hammer out another two or three before I go back to school.
> 
> Also, I finished the story outline! We're looking at around 24 chapters plus an epilogue, provided everything goes according to plan OTL...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris starts explaining, but he needs to tell Victor something else first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this all in like four hours afkadkhlsg;aaa
> 
> and on a side note, it's a little... exposition-y. But we're coming up on the part of the story where shit's gonna get explained, so it can't be helped. I hope it's still fun to read ;;

* * *

 

 

Minako doesn't leave Christophe’s side for a single moment.

Ever since they returned to the Safehouse, she’s never been more than two feet away, and even then, she only ever left reluctantly. Christophe, on the other hand, is more than alright with this; he leans his head against her shoulder whenever she sits beside him, and as he slept, his head was pillowed in her lap.

Victor observes this with two emotions, the first being amusement. He’d figured that the two of them were friends, and close ones at that, but he hadn’t figured they would be anything… more. It’s almost sweet, watching them interact with all the casual intimacy of a couple that’s known each other for years. And yet, it doesn’t seem to Victor that they’ve acknowledged these feelings, at least not to each other.  He almost wants to ask about it, when the second emotions rears its head.

It’s impatience.

They finally have Christophe back, but at Emil’s insistence, the man needed to rest, recover his wits, before they could ask him anything. So Victor begrudgingly returned home, fed his dog, and waited for the call to come back. Of course, he knew that Christophe did need time; the man was a mess, at least according to Emil, when the doctor finally returned to take a look at him. From what the former Director could get out, there had in fact been a struggle before he’d been put in the Attic, not the mention the mental trauma such a place inflicted. He refused to share what his nightmares had been, not that anyone really pressed for that information.

Anyway. Victor understood, he really did. He was just _so ready_ for answers, to not be in the dark anymore. Waiting longer, when the keys to everything were right there at the Safehouse _,_ was unbearable.

But luckily, the call comes in just after he’s returned from work. It had been a slow day, due to Victor’s grandfather being called out to an unexpected meeting, and Georgi was noticeably absent as well. Between his boredom at work and his anticipation for the call, the minutes seemed to just drag on.

He feeds Makkachin before he goes, giving the dog a few reassuring pats. And then he’s off to his car, driving towards the Safehouse’s location for the nth time in as many weeks.

When he arrives, everyone is gathered in the living room. Guang-Hong is sitting on one of the sofas, while Minako and Christophe are on the other. Emil leans against the wall, apparently content to stand. They look up as Victor walks in, and he pauses for a moment.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” greets Christophe in a surprisingly level voice. Though his smile is shaky is best.

“Director. Or I suppose it’s just Mr. Giacometti now,” replies Victor.

Christophe waves his free hand - the one that’s not wrapped around Minako’s, that is - dismissively. “Chris is just fine. Please, sit. I… I imagine you’re very anxious to hear what I have to say.”

Victor snorts, but does as the man asks, and sits next to Guang-Hong. “You could say that. And you might as well just call me Victor.”

Chris looks at each one of them, drawing in a deep breath. He lets it out in a long sigh, then stares down at his lap.

“Before I get into it… There’s something you should know, Mr. Nik-… Victor.”

Victor leans forwards ever so slightly. “Yes?”

“I’m sure you realize by now that you’re far more entangled with the Dollhouse than you previously thought. You’re not merely a client, you’re…”

“A Doll,” Victor finishes. His own voice is oddly monotone. He supposes a part of him already knew - he thinks they all knew, really - and hearing Chris confirm it only adds a dull weight to the pit of his stomach.

Chris nods. “A Doll. Pragma, to be more exact.”

“But…” interrupts Guang-Hong, “what about the old Pragma? How long has Victor been an Active?”

“I will get to that,” promises Chris. “I promise, I will try to answer everything that you ask of me, but I need to say this first… Victor, despite all of this, you are still a real person. Victor Nikiforov is the name you were born with.”

Victor blinks. “S-So… I’m a Doll, but I’m still… me?”

The weight lessens as he speaks, but he can’t say he’s not entirely pleased, either. For the past few weeks, terrifying thoughts have played out in his head, haunting him at night as he tried to sleep. Thoughts that perhaps he’s just like Haruhiko Nanami or Masaru Amari; a fake person, who doesn’t exist outside of the Dollhouse’s Archives and the fantasy of whatever twisted fuck did this to him - assuming he didn’t somehow do this to himself. That thought scares him even more, for what could have possibly happened to him that he would willingly volunteer for the Dollhouse’s glorified slavery ring?

“Your personality and a few… select memories were modified,” explains Chris, recapturing Victor’s attention. “But on the whole, your childhood, your hobbies, your love for your dog, that’s all untouched, original architecture.”

“But why?” asks Emil. “Who does that help? How was Victor changed?”

Victor looks back at the doctor, a tad grateful for asking something when Victor himself seems incapable of speaking. There’s just too much running through his mind, too many questions, picking one is impossible.

“He was made more… obedient, I guess you could say,” Chris says as he scratches at his stubble with a tired expression. “More professional, less willing to talk back or goof off. And definitely more serious.”

Victor wants to be amused at that. Him, serious? His grandfather and Yakov are always telling him he never takes things seriously enough. How bad must he have been before?

Some of his emotions must show on his face, because Chris looks at him with a small, almost pitying smile.

“I know this must sound hard to believe, but you were quite a jovial man, Victor.”

“And how would you know that?” Victor asks snappishly. “Did we know each other before?”

Chris shrugs. “No, of course not. I just based that assumption off the other videos.”

Both Victor and Minako are thrown for a loop.

“Other videos?” repeats the woman. “There are other videos?”

Victor is about to ask the same, but Chris holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Yes, there are, and I can access them through my personal server. But please, may I finish?”

Minako and Victor share a look. With a sigh, Victor tells him to go ahead.

“Thank you. Now, in addition to your personality being modified, you had certain memories removed. They would’ve conflicted with your new ideals, so new ones were put in their place. I’m guessing you’ve suffered from terrible headaches?” He waits for Victor to nod. “That’s the cause of them. Every time you try to remember something too hard, your new programming blocks it out.”

This time, it’s Guang-Hong who interrupts. He looks deeply disturbed. “Who did this procedure? Modifying a person’s personality and memories is way harder than just starting from a clean slate.”

Chris grimaces. “The Chairman brought in a specialist from an outside Dollhouse to get the job done.”

“The Chairman?” echoes Emil, confused. “He knew about this?”

“He’s the one who ordered the procedure be done on Mr. Nikiforov in the first place,” Chris says solemnly.

“But - !” Victor shakes his head - what the _fuck_ is happening? “Why? What did I ever do to him?”

Chris regards him sadly. “He thought he was doing what was best for you. As well as for the Dollhouse and… for Aelita.”

“Aelita?” Minako’s eyes swerve to Victor, who has frozen in his seat. “Isn’t that your company, Victor?”

“It’s… It’s a family company,” he begins to say, mostly out of habit, because it’s not really _his_ company, it’s…

“Isn’t Aelita that big medical tech corporation?” he can hear Guang-Hong whisper.

Emil replies in an equally quiet voice, “Yes… Some of my equipment comes from an Aelita subsidiary.”

“Victor,” Chris’s voice cuts through them all. He looks at the man, feeling light-headed. “The Chairman of the Dollhouse and the CEO of Aelita…”

“Did my grandfather have something to do with this?” Victor asks quietly. “That can’t… No, the Chairman must have manipulated him somehow. Right?”

Chris’s eyes shimmer with condolence, which is the opposite of what Victor wants to see right now. And then he opens his mouth, and says the worst few words Victor thinks he’s heard in all his life.

“They’re the same person, Victor. Anton Nikiforov is the Chairman of the Dollhouse.”

 

* * *

 

_Chris steels himself with a deep breath in, before pushing open the door and entering the sleek office space. He’d been in here multiple times. Sometimes as a friend, often times as an employee. The room screams money and power, and despite Chris’s tough facade, it’s hard to not feel a sliver of intimidation as he sees the elderly man sitting at the large oak desk worth half a fortune. The man has icy blue eyes, blond hair streaked with wisps of white, and his hands are folded in front of his face, shielding most of his expression from the Swiss man._

_Chris, ever the professional, puts on a smile as he approaches the desk, ignoring the deafening_ click _of the door behind him, trapping him with the other man._

_“Mr. Chairman,” he greets. “Nice to see you again.”_

_“Christophe,” Anton Nikiforov replies, his voice low but strong. “You know why you’re here. Enough with the pleasantries.”_

_Chris sighs dramatically. He’s a few feet from Anton’s desk when he stops. “Yes, yes, I’m here because of what happened with Eros. Really sir, that was just a tragic coincidence, him running into an old client like that.”_

_Anton lowers his hands, though they remain clasped together on the surface of his desk. To Chris’s relief, he doesn’t look angry or upset. Mostly, he looks the way he always does, a stern businessman._

_“An old client,” he repeats, mostly to himself. “Is that the lie you were going to try and sell me this time?”_

_Chris feels his blood run cold._

_“I’m insulted you think so little of my intelligence, Christophe.”_

_“S-Sir?”_

_“Your little ruse has gone on long enough.” Anton stands from his chair, leveling the blond with a cool gaze. “I’ll admit, though, it wasn’t for lack of trying. ”_

_Chris grits his jaw and stares back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”_

_Anton smiles at that. “Do you know the man that called in Eros’s little mishap with Belsky? He sent a photo, too. To give me an idea of the damage.”_

_Oh._

_Chris tries valiantly not to flinch as Anton leisurely walks around his desk, still talking all the while._

_“Imagine my surprise when I see my own grandson, kneeling in the dirt, his arms around that little_ whore _from Japan. And then they tell me the whore is one of my Dolls! Really, Christophe, your attention to detail is astounding. Faking his name, photo, even his blood type? Here I thought Eros was just a local from St. Petersburg.”_

_Anton is standing right next to Chris, though the latter refuses to move from his spot, and merely stares straight ahead at the chair the Russian once occupied._

_Anton’s next question is murmured quietly, but in such a tone that it chills Chris to his very core._

_“What game have you been playing at, Christophe?”_

_Chris forces himself to reply quickly. “There’s no game, sir. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_“Enough,” Anton’s voice is louder now, and Chris visibly cringes at the volume. “Tell me everything, now, and I may see fit not to send you off to the Attic.”_

_Chris is silent._

_Anton sighs. “I thought you learned your lesson before. Apparently Markus wasn’t enough of a punishment.”_

_“...”_

_“Well, alright. Luckily, nothing you’ve done so far can’t be reversed with a little interference on my part.”_

_Chris’s breath hitches. “Sir?”_

_“I’ll have my Vitenka fixed again, and I’ll figure something else out for the Japanese harlot. Though, if he’s already a Doll, I may have my work cut out for me.”_

_Chris turns to face him fully, alarm evident in his features. “Sir, please, what are you talking about - !”_

_He’s cut off by a surprise blow to his face, which sends him spiralling to the floor. He lands on his side, as pain blossoms by his jaw. He licks his lips and tastes blood, and when he looks up, he sees a glint of red on Anton’s ring. The older man looks at it, too, disinterested as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes it clean._

_“Enough, Christophe. No more lies, no more games. It’s over.”_

_And Chris knows it. He drops his surprised look and glares at Anton with as much disdain as he can muster. Infuriatingly, it only makes the man smile wider._

_“... He’s your family,” Chris says, accusingly. “How could you do this to him? To the man he loves?”_

_Abruptly, fury overtakes Anton’s features, and he stalks over to where Chris lies on the floor, delivering a swift kick to the man’s stomach. Chris gags, curling in on himself, as Anton rages above him._

_“You call that love?” Another kick, this time to Chris’s head; the Swiss man raises his arms to try and protect himself, but Anton is uncaring. “Love is the years of effort I took to raise that ungrateful child! Love is all that I’ve worked to give him, and what does he do? He decides to run off with some dancer!”_

_After one last kick, Anton stops, taking a few steps back to recollect himself. Chris is still curled tightly into a ball on the floor, but pain and bruises are fresh all over his body. Slowly, he unfurls himself, staring at Anton with a mix of horror and disgust._

_Anton closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then letting it out in a quiet exhale. He walks back to his desk, reaches for an intercom, and pushes a button. Moments later, the door to his office swings open again, and two men in black suits enter the room. Anton nods to Chris, and they descend upon him._

_He struggles against their grip, but they’re both six feet of solid muscle, and his stomach is still aching from that direct blow, as is the rest of his body from the continued assault._

_“Take him back to the Dollhouse,” orders Anton. “He’s going to the Attic.”_

_One of the guards speaks up, “Shall I call your programmer, sir?”_

_Anton shakes his head. “No. No, I think we’ll have Chris’s man do the job. What’s his name again? Ji?”_

_Chris can do nothing but glare. “You’re disgusting.”_

_“I’m a businessman,” he replies, bored. “And like all businessmen, occassionally I experience errors of judgement. One of my biggest was hiring_ you. _But a good businessman fixes his mistakes.” He adjusts the cuffs of his suit, approaching Chris until they’re inches apart. “After I put you away, I’m taking my grandson back.” He looks up to the guards. “Call Popovich. Have him bring Pragma to my personal facility. He has some explaining to do as well.”_

_The guards respond affirmatively, and then Anton smiles down at Chris. But it’s mocking, making Chris’s gut boil with rage._

_“It’s such a shame. You definitely improved things at the Dollhouse, in your own way. A bit of sentimentality isn’t bad, Christophe, but too much can be a dangerous thing. Markus was a testament to that.”_

_Unable to stop himself, Chris spits, a bloody gob of saliva hitting Anton square in the face. He staggers back, looking surprised, as the guards haul Chris back a few inches just to be safe. Anton then, calmly, brings out his handkerchief again and wipes his face clean. He balls up the handkerchief, tosses it onto his desk, and approaches Chris again._

_However, instead of speaking, he raises a fist and punches him again. Chris barely gets out a grunt before he goes limp in the guards’ arms._

_“You’re lucky I don’t just kill you, you know,” he hears distantly. “Of course, depending on what you see in the Attic, death may be the real mercy.”_

‘Bastard,’ _Chris thinks._

_And then, everything goes dark._

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so yeah, a LOT of you guessed who the Chairman was. TToTT
> 
> On one hand, I'm a little sad that so many people guessed that particular twist, but on the other, I'm kind of relieved. Nothing pisses me off more than a story going BOOM SURPRISE and blindsiding the audience. So I'm kind of... chill right now, I guess.
> 
> Next chapter's gonna be a LONG one, so it might not get out as fast as this one did


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor gets some answers.
> 
> He's not happy with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up trimming a lot of this chapter for flow purposes, so it's not as long as I feared it would be ;;
> 
> Still very plotty, though

* * *

 

 

**_Five and a half years ago_ **

_ A knock comes at Chris’s office door. Not looking up from the reports on his desk, he calls for the person to enter. He assumes it’s either a handler or his lunch order, but when someone clears their throat directly in front of him, he looks up to find that neither guess is correct. Instead, it’s the Chairman himself.  _

_ Chris blinks in surprise a few times before forcing a smile for the older man.  _

_ “Mr. Nikiforov, lovely to see you again,” he says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” _

_ The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. _

_ Anton doesn’t say a greeting back, just gets right to it. “I need a favor, Christophe.” _

_ “A… favor.” He repeats, dumbfounded. “You?” _

_ “Yes,” replies Anton. “And after the mess your little dalliance with Pragma caused, you certainly owe me one.” _

_ Chris slowly moves aside the reports and stands. His expression has become cold. “I owe you? Haven’t you already taken enough?” _

_ Anton doesn’t shy away from his glare. “You’re lucky I didn’t toss you in the Attic along with Karpisek and Bastien.” _

_ Chris twitches at the names. His former assistant, and… an old handler. He’s never gotten around to hiring new replacements. _

_ “... What’s the favor?” he asks, defeated. _

_ “I have someone I need… modified,” answers Anton. “Completely off the records. In fact, I’d prefer it if you, the programmer, and myself were the only ones privy to this entire affair.” _

_ Chris furrows his brow. “Alright… Who is this person?” Perhaps a rival businessman? That wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary for someone like Anton. Or perhaps his orders come from higher up -  traitor to the Dollhouse? If someone is high-profile enough, they can’t just lock them in the Attic; people would notice their disappearance. So a modification is made instead, wiping their memories of everything Dollhouse-related. He’s sure that Anton, who has been doing this longer than Chris has been alive, must have dealt with a few such cases. _

_ Instead of answering, Anton reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small file. He hands it to Chris with an impassive look, eyes betraying nothing. Chris takes the file and frowns at it uncertainly. But, with no other option, he opens it, finding a photo of a handsome young man. His eyes are blue, and his hair, shockingly, is silver. He has a kind, heart-shaped smile, but something about him is familiar… almost upsettingly so.  _

_ Chris’s eyes drift to the opposite side of the folder, and that's when he realizes why. _

**_PROSPECTIVE CANDIDATE FOR PRAGMA_ **

**_Name:_ ** _ Victor Nikiforov _

 

* * *

 

“Anton wanted to use the Dollhouse’s resources to ‘fix’ his grandson. I didn’t… I wasn't comfortable with the idea, but he held my past mistakes over me, so I had no choice but to let him use our equipment and staff. We had a different programmer at the time... Anton told us both that if we ever tried to report this to anyone, he’d have us both thrown in the Attic. The programmer didn’t listen… So we ended up needing to hire Guang-Hong a few months later.”

Chris finishes, staring down at his lap. Minako squeezes his hand gently, while Emil and Guang-Hong exchange nervous glances. Victor’s face is unreadable, and perhaps that’s what Chris finds the most unsettling.

“Victor, I am so sorry,” he says, finally looking up to face him. “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking right now… But I promise you, I am telling the truth.”

“No.”

Chris sighs. “Victor - !”

“ _ No.”  _ Victor stands up, a look of pure hatred on his face. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides, like the slightest provocation could cause him to start throwing punches at the nearest living thing. “I don’t want to hear any more of this. You’re a liar.”

He hisses the words with such venom Chris visibly recoils, causing Minako to stand up angrily. 

“Why would he be lying? Did you not see what they put him through?!”

“I don’t care!” Victor shouts back. “He’s lying!  _ Dedushka  _ would never… He can’t…” Taking a step back, Victor runs a hand through his hair, face suddenly lost. Confused. 

Scared.

Chris slowly rises to his feet. “Victor…”

Victor’s gaze snaps back to him. His glare is back in full force, and without another word, he storms out of the room, ignoring the dismayed shouts of everyone else.

Minako moves to go after him, only to be held back by Chris. He shakes his head at her.

“He didn’t go towards the door,” he says softly. “Just… Let him calm down for a while. He deserves that much.”

Minako frowns, but with another glance towards where Victor used to be, she reluctantly backs down. Chris smiles gratefully at her. He and his three employees - or former employees, he thinks - remain in silence.

Eventually, after a half-hour passes, Chris declares his intention to get Victor and bring him back, so that he may continue. Minako tries to go with him, but he insists firmly that he needs to face the distraught man alone. So, however reluctantly, she stays behind, as Chris searches the Safehouse for Victor Nikiforov.

Chris finds him on the second floor, on a balcony that overlooks the rest of the neighborhood. It’s getting late, but no stars are visible, as bright as the lights from the city are. Victor is leaning against the railings, the line of his body tense. Chris approaches slowly, making sure that Victor can hear his footsteps. Victor does react, barely a flinch but still a movement, though he doesn’t turn to face the former Director.

Chris leans against the railings, too, resting his elbows on top of them in a similar manner to Victor. For a while, they both stare at the city lights, unspeaking, unmoving. The only sounds are that of cars passing by in unseen streets, and the light blowing of the breeze. Chris already feels cold, but Victor doesn’t seem to notice the chill.

Finally, it’s Victor who speaks first.

“I still don’t believe you.”

“I thought not.”

“My grandfather has done nothing but take care of me,” he goes on. “He’s given me everything. We’re all the family the other has left.”

“I know.”

“So then why?!” Victor turns his head sharply, still angry. “Why the hell would he do any of this? It doesn’t make sense!”

Chris sighs. “You were programmed to believe that, Victor. To believe that your grandfather could do no wrong, that his word was absolute.”

Victor snorts. “So you don’t know me all that well, after all. I’ve butted heads with him before. A lot of times.”

“Of course, you were allowed some modicum of free will,” shrugs the blond, “but not enough that you would actually go against his wishes. You still work at Aelita, despite finding it boring, don’t you?”

Victor is quiet for a moment. “I’m… I’m good at the work.”

“You are. But you still hate it. There’s only so much of a person we can alter without resorting to a full-on wipe, Victor. Anton wanted someone to take over his legacy. He just picked someone competent over someone who actually enjoyed the job. It’s not like you could tell him no.”

Victor turns back to the view, but his features are still drawn in an upset expression. His voice is much softer as he speaks again. “He… He took care of me. Ever since my parents died, ever since  _ Babushka  _ passed… He’s all I had.”

“Maybe so,” Chris says, and he says it kindly. “But maybe Anton’s version of ‘care’ was never the right thing to begin with.” He takes a deep breath and then sighs. “... I was there for your procedure.”

“I know,” Victor says.

“You woke up.”

That causes the silver haired man to pause. He looks at Chris with confusion. “I what?”

“Right before it started. You regained consciousness.” Chris’s face twists unpleasantly as he remembers. “You were strapped down in the chair, and you were terrified. You begged Anton to stop it. You… You wanted to know where Yuuri was.”

He hears Victor’s breath hitch. Turning his head again, he sees that the Russian is gripping the railings with white knuckles.

“Who…” Victor swallows before continuing. “Who was he to me?”

“I thought you didn’t believe me?” Chris asks quietly.

“Just… tell me,” is Victor’s annoyed - and desperate - reply. “How do I know Yuuri Katsuki?”

“... You were in love,” he decides on saying. “It got to the point where you were willing to leave everything for him. Your grandfather, Aelita, even Russia.”

“But I…” Victor sounds defeated, his shoulders sagging as his grip loosens on the metal rails. “I don’t remember him. How important could he have been to me if I can’t even remember him?”

At that, Chris smiles. “Maybe not directly, but your subconscious certainly does. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been so attracted to Eros right from the start.”

Victor stares. “Was that your plan? Making me remember Yuuri through our engagements?”

Chris shakes his head. “It’s not that easy. My focus was more on Yuuri, to see how strong our programming really was in the face of someone he loved so completely. For you, I’d need your original personality restored to make you remember everything, but Anton has that locked away.”

At the mention of his grandfather, Victor again scowls. But to his credit, he tries to fix his expression into something more neutral. “... I’m still not sure I believe you about him.”

“That’s fine,” replies Chris. “For now, I just want you to listen. Are you ready to come back?”

Victor is still frowning, still looks like he'd rather punch Chris than listen to a word he says… But then something else flickers in his expression. Chris can't possibly hope to know what it is, but whatever the thought, it's enough to make Victor turn from the balcony and start stalking back inside the house. 

He pauses at the doorway. “Come on,” he says, not looking at the blond. 

Chris smiles. He follows after Victor, out of the frigid night air.

 

* * *

 

Victor knows he looks moody as he and Chris walk back to the living room, but currently, he doesn't give a damn. His expression doesn't falter, even as he sees Guang-Hong and Emil’s obviously concerned faces. Nor does it falter when he sees Minako eyeing him critically, as if she's trying to discern what he and Chris talked about purely through observation.

He retakes his seat and watches as Chris does the same. Crossing his arms over his chest, Victor waits for the man to start again, as does everyone else, albeit with much more open curiosity on their faces.

“Right…” Chris begins, collecting himself with another deep breath. “So, about a year after we modified Victor, a young man came to the Dollhouse in tears. This isn’t that unusual, but the request he had for us was…”

“What did he want?” asks Emil.

“He wanted… to forget someone. He started crying even more when I asked him who, and then finally, I got a name. Victor Nikiforov.”

Minako frowns. “The man was Yuuri Katsuki, wasn’t he?”

Chris nods. He’s looking at Victor, though, so Victor is careful to maintain his pissed expression. Even though, on the inside, he’s a whirlpool of confusion and dread. Yuuri wanted to forget him? But Chris said… If they loved each other so much, why?

As if sensing his unspoken question, Chris goes on. 

“From what I could gather, Yuuri believed that Victor had died in a car accident. They were due to move back to Yuuri’s hometown because his student visa had been terminated. The stress from his expulsion, the move, and finally, the death of his fiance were apparently too much, and he just… wanted to forget it all.”

“Poor thing,” comments Emil. “Anton faked Victor’s death with that car crash several years ago, didn’t he? And he blamed the headaches caused by the procedures on that…”

Chris nods at the doctor. “Exactly. I tried to dissuade Yuuri from signing up for a contract once I realized who he was, but he was adamant. He looked so… broken. Here was a man who lost the person he loved the most, he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. I… saw something of myself in him.”

At that, Victor blinks. He’s confused - but judging from the looks of everyone around him, they seem to understand perfectly. Minako reaches for Chris’s hand again, and he lets her take it with little more than a soft smile.

“So I let him go through with it. But I got curious. I wanted to know more about this couple, but of course, Anton had everything from Victor’s university days either changed or erased. There was no indication he and Yuuri ever knew each other, or even crossed paths. Then about two years later, I caught a break when I found the cache.”

“The cache?” echoes Guang-Hong.

“I’d been looking into Victor and Yuuri’s case consistently since then, but I was about to give up until I found a storage website listed under Victor’s name. Evidently Anton didn’t know about this, so it was left untouched. It had almost fifty videos and pictures, labeled in a folder called ‘ _ zvyozdochka’.”  _

Chris looks at Victor again, only to find the Russian pale and wide-eyed. He levels him with a cool gaze.

“Little star, isn’t that right?”

Victor can only give a shaky nod.

“It was fairly mundane things,” the former Director continues. “Yuuri in the morning, Yuuri dancing, Yuuri eating. It would almost have been creepy, if Victor hadn’t been chatting with Yuuri throughout every single one of them.” As he remembers the videos, Chris smiles to himself. “You looked happy.”

The smile drops off his face almost immediately.

“So I knew I couldn’t just… let this go on. I couldn’t have Victor, a shell of what he used to be, stuck in a job he probably hated, while I had Yuuri here, going out with strangers who would use him for a night and then be done with him. I never… I always felt uncomfortable with this job, but after I saw what the two of you had, for the first time, I downright hated it.”

“S-So…” Minako tries, apparently taken aback by Chris’s strong emotions. Indeed, the hand that Minako isn’t holding is clenched tightly in his lap, shaking. “So you started meddling.”

Chris pauses for a few moments, letting the tension slowly ease out of him. Finally, he nods again. 

“Sort of. I couldn’t reach out to Victor directly and risk Anton or his handler finding out. I had to either send someone in, or wait for Victor find a way to the Dollhouse on his own. And I didn’t want to drag people into another one of my messes… Anyway, it took another two years, but I caught a break when Victor finally called, looking for a date.”

“But wait,” Victor finally speaks. “Georgi was the one who told me about the Dollhouse. He’s my so-called handler, isn’t he? Why would he do that?”

“That never made sense to me, either,” says Emil. “As far as we knew, Georgi was only concerned with Ludus. We thought she was his only charge.”

“Well, Georgi only became Victor’s handler recently. No more than a year ago,” says Chris. “Victor’s previous handler recommended him personally before he left.”

Victor looks at him bewilderingly. “Why did he leave?”

“He was retiring,” shrugs Chris. “I believe he said something about wanting to work more closely with Anton at Aelita, and he couldn’t do that if he had to watch you twenty-four-seven.”

The Russian’s eyes widen. Ice spikes in his gut. “Who… was he?”

“His name was Yakov. Yakov Feltsman.”

Victor buries his face in his hands and groans. “You’re dragging him into this, too?”

“I’m only telling you what I know,” insists Chris. “I take it you and he are close?”

“Since I was a child,” snaps Victor. “Long before any of this nonsense started! How can you accuse the people closest to me of such horrible things?”

“Victor…” To everyone’s surprise, it’s Guang-Hong’s quiet voice that cuts through the tense atmosphere. He whips his head around to glare at the young man, but he doesn’t flinch. “Really think about this. If you’ve only been modified, not fully wiped, some part of you has to feel it. That they were always hiding something from you… That something in your life was missing.”

“...”

“I can show you the videos,” offers Chris. “It’ll take awhile to get to my server without tipping off Anton, but I could get them.”

“I…” Victor groans again. “This is just all so messed up.”

“I know,” Chris says. “And I’m sorry that you have to go through this, but… Would you really rather go back to the way things were before?”

Victor runs a hand down his face, trying to look unaffected, even as his mind is racing.  _ Would he?  _ Months ago, before Georgi ever muttered the word ‘Dollhouse’, he’d been doing alright. He wasn’t… happy, per se - he’d already told Yakov that much - but he was fine. There were no complicated schemes or secrets lurking around every corner, no accusations flying left and right. There was nothing but work, grandfather, and Makkachin, and Victor was content with that.

On the other hand…

He thinks of what Guang-Hong said not minutes ago. He did know, didn’t he? That something was off with Yakov and Anton. He’d always brushed it off, but with so much happening now… Maybe it was worth more than a little looking into. Georgi certainly wasn’t the man he pretended to be. Who else in his life was lying to him?

Something else occurs to Victor. Months ago, he didn’t know Yuuri Katsuki’s face. Then suddenly, he became all he could think about. His rigid lifestyle had become consumed with this beautiful illusion, a person he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. 

But then Haruhiko Nanami was fiery and passionate, able to take what Victor would give him and even return the favor tenfold. Masaru Amari was adorable and emotional, amusing Victor endlessly with his antics, making him feel lighter than he could ever recall being.

And then there was Yuuri Katsuki. A man Victor was supposed to know, according to Chris, but didn’t. A man who cried so openly on camera, who danced like his body was an instrument, and who kissed Victor with tenderness and love he doesn’t recognize. Had he really had a life with someone like Yuuri?

He finds himself wishing he did.

He looks at Chris with steely eyes. “And what are you going to do about this, hm?” he asks. “Are you planning on magically fixing your mistakes, on exposing my grandfather as the villain you think he is?”

“My only goal for now is reuniting Yuuri Katsuki with his lover,” answers Chris. “But I can only do that if you let me, Victor. Will you?”

Victor’s lips press together as his brow furrows. He feels all eyes in the room on him. Funny. He’d been in board meetings and conferences with a hundred times as many people, but he’d never felt so much pressure relying on his answer. He already knows what it is, anyway.

He looks up, face grim, and nods.

“I will.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor was initially more... accepting of the idea that his grandfather is a big douchenozzle, so that's something I felt the need to change. He still knows something's not quite right, but he's essentially under mind control, so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ what can you do?
> 
> IMPORTANT: I'm going to Montana with my dad on Friday, so I probably won't be able to write the next chapter. Meaning it might be a while. Depending, of course, on how bored I am during the trip that I don't just write it on my iPad anyway.
> 
> And Eros and Agape will definitely reappear in 15. Probably. 
> 
> Maybe.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor watches memories but can't remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was not supposed to be this long ffs
> 
> warning, there is smut. There wasn't supposed to be, but it snuck its way in there. And it's a touch more explicit than what we've gotten so far, so. be ready for that.

Everyone has since retired - Guang-Hong to his own room at the Safehouse, Emil to his. Victor has returned to his apartment, sullen and quiet, not even saying a goodbye to the others before sulking out of the building.

Chris sits on the edge of the bed in Minako’s room, tapping at an outdated laptop they’d found stored in the Safehouse. Beside him, Minako also sits, watching him with mild interest as he works.

“You’re sure you can get to the cache without being traced?” she asks.

“I know a trick or two, Minako,” he replies. “I wasn’t hired exclusively for my good looks, you know.”

She bumps her shoulder against his, rolling her eyes. It’s exactly the kind of joke he would give, long before any of this started, but he sounds more hollow now. She hates it, but she doesn’t let it show.

“I’m just being cautious. As much as I’m sure those videos will help, they might not be worth the risk if the Chairman catches on.”

“He won’t,” insists Chris. “I’ll make sure of that. But if you’re really that worried, I can ask Guang-Hong to double-check my process.”

Minako hums. She does trust Guang-Hong a tiny bit more in these matters. He’s their computer genius, after all.

It’s quiet for a few moments, save for the tapping of Chris’s fingers on the keys. Finally, Chris speaks up again.

“What is it?” he asks, glancing away from the screen to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got that look on your face. You’re thinking about something.”

“I’m thinking about a lot of things.”

“Care to share?”

“I just…” she sighs. “It seems odd. That a man as careful as the Chairm-... Anton Nikiforov would overlook an entire cache of videos made by his grandson.”

Chris shares a commiserating look with her. “I thought it was strange, too, but… Believe me, Minako, I’ve checked and triple-checked everything. The videos are all safe. I highly doubt Anton even knows they exist.”

“It’s still discomforting,” she says. “Like it’s too good to be a coincidence. If they’re not a trap, then… I don’t know.”

“...” Chris sighs, folding the laptop back down and setting it aside. “That’s how I’ve been feeling pretty much for the past few years. Like every step forward was just another step towards some big, elaborate trap Anton had planned. It’s understandable to be so paranoid.”

She eyes him carefully. “Do you still feel that way?”

“Of course. Even now that we have Victor on our side - more or less - it doesn’t feel real. Everything I’ve been working towards is getting closer, but I can’t let myself be relaxed yet. I’m not _going_ to be relaxed until Victor and Yuuri are together again.”

Minako sighs, falling back to lay against the bed. “I still don’t get you, Chris. You do all this for people you barely know. No matter how soft-hearted you are, any way you look at it, this crusade of yours is nonsensical.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You’re here too, aren't you?”

“Just to keep your sorry ass from getting killed.”

“Aw, _mon cygne,_ I love you too.”

She huffs out a laugh. “... But really, Chris. Did those videos make that big an impression on you?”

“... I’d be lying if I said no. You should see them yourself, Minako.” Chris reclines to lay down beside her, and they both stare at the bland, white ceiling above. “What Victor and Yuuri have… It’s that once in a lifetime kind of love. The kind everyone wants. The kind I thought I had, before…”

He goes silent again. Minako’s expression turns pitying. She reaches down and grabs his hand, and Chris lets her, internally grateful for her touch.

“You should get some rest,” she says.

“So should you.”

But neither of them move. Chris is unwilling to retreat to the Safehouse’s last available bedroom, and Minako is loathe to let him leave hers. So they remain there, lying side-by-side in silence, until they both inevitably drift off to sleep, hands still clasped together.

 

* * *

 

Victor taps his fingers against his desk, the sound echoing throughout his office. Luckily, no one but him is around to be annoyed at the noise, so he lets himself continue, all the while angrily glaring at the computer screen in front of him.

He feels restless. And increasingly annoyed. After all he’d learned in the past few days, trying to return to a semi-normal life at Aelita was proving to be… difficult. He was constantly on edge, feeling aggravation at every little comment by a coworker, or when the computers took just a second too long to load a document.

Luckily, he’d been able to explain away his behavior as a result of lack of sleep, and this was also partially true. He doesn’t think he’s gotten more than a few hours of rest per night since saving Chris from the Attic. He’s either staying up, poring over every piece of information in his head until he passes out from exhaustion, or his dreams wake him up early, torturing him with vivid fantasies - or are they memories? - of a dark-haired man he now knows to be Yuuri Katsuki.

Victor sighs, dragging a hand down his face before glancing at the clock. It’s almost time to head home. He’s done enough work for the day that his grandfather won’t be suspicious if he leaves early. With that in mind, and really not wanting to think of his grandfather or anyone else Chris had accused, he gathers up his things and goes to the parking garage, without stopping to say goodbye to anyone.

Unfortunately, he’s stopped just as he’s about to get into his car by Yakov.

“Vitya!” he shouts, and Victor freezes. He turns around with a plastered-on smile.

“Yes, Yakov? I was just leaving.”

“I can see that,” the older man grouses, walking until he’s standing right by Victor’s car. “Are you sure you’re feeling well? It’s a little early.”

“Just tired,” he answers honestly, but in a clipped tone. “Really, Yakov.”

Yakov stares at him. Then he sighs, placing a hand on the roof of Victor’s car and using his other to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Right… I’ve just been worried about you, you know.”

Victor twitches minutely, feeling slightly vindicated. See, Chris? Yakov really cares about him. He’s sure his grandfather does, too.

“Oh? There’s nothing to worry about. I just need a good nap, that’s all.”

Yakov’s hands fall back to his sides, and he nods. “If you’re sure. But…” His old face twists. “Have you given any more thought to what I said a while ago? About… what you want?”

Victor grimaces. “... Sort of. I’m a little busy now, but…”

“You have an idea, then?” Yakov gives him a calculating look.

“...” Victor thinks of his associates back at the Safehouse. He thinks about Yuuri Katsuki, and the enormity of the situation that has overtaken his life. And his desire to resolve it.

“Yeah. An idea.”

Yakov nods. “Alright. Drive safely, Vitya.”

Victor hurries into his car, murmuring an, “I will,” over his shoulder. As he pulls out of the parking garage, he sees Yakov’s figure in his rear view mirror. Soon, though, the older man turns and reenters the building.

The drive back to his apartment is as long and as dull as it’s always been. The streets of St. Petersburg pass in a snowy blur, but Victor pays none of it any attention. When he arrives at his apartment complex, he hurries up to his unit and enters, breathing out a sigh of relief as soon as he crosses the threshold. Makkachin is waiting faithfully on the couch, tail wagging affectionately once he spies his master at the door.

“I’m home,” Victor mutters, mostly to himself, though Makkachin barks in acknowledgement.

Throwing off his coat and tossing his briefcase aside, Victor feeds Makkachin before retiring to the couch and opening up his laptop. The first thing he does, of course, is check his personal email.

Unlike his work email, his personal inbox is barely full, containing mostly party invitations from people he barely knows, and the occasional message from Georgi. Victor quickly goes to his spam inbox and finds a few of the usual items - erectile dysfunction pills, fake pharmacy ads, and requests to join what he’s fairly sure is an online cult. But one particular message catches his eye.

It’s an email from a supposedly well-known scientist, asking for donations for his latest experiment. The scientist’s name is Dr. Evan Nichols. _E.N._ Emil thought it was clever.

Without blinking, Victor clicks on it.

_Victor,_ the message begins, _a few updates: Dollhouse has put Guang-Hong on their blacklist. They brought in a new programmer to take his place, too. Some genius from South Korea, I think. He doesn’t talk much. They’re still searching for ‘Sergei’. My cover is still in the clear. Also, Chris wanted me to send you this._

Victor blinks at the folder attached to the message. Emil doesn’t usually send attachments; his emails are for the sole purpose of updating Victor on their status. As the only one of them still with unfettered access to the Dollhouse, the doctor has been acting as their eyes and ears. Fortunately, according to Emil, the Dollhouse at large seems unaware of the bigger conspiracy against them. As far as most of the staff know, Director Giacometti is on extended leave, Minako has retired early, and Guang-Hong is exploring other job opportunities. The only ones with any real ideas of what’s going on are the Head of Security, Otabek Altin, and a handful of other higher-ups. Emil does not know, however, whether or not the Chairman is aware of the current situation.

As soon as his grandfather’s face enters his thoughts, Victor quickly distracts himself by clicking on the folder, only to find it full of mp4 files, each labeled with an… odd title. Among them are ‘ _adorable askjdals_ ’, ‘ _hes so precious_ ’ (there’s four files like that), ‘ _thank u god_ ’, and ‘ _MERCY_ ’. He suddenly realizes that the folder itself is called ‘ _zvyozdochka’._ Meaning that this is the cache Chris told him about.

With clear trepidation, Victor clicks on the first video, and is immediately greeted with the sight of Yuuri Katsuki.

He’s sitting at a table, dressed casually in what seem to be pajamas, a bowl of something unfamiliar to Victor in front of him. He’s eyeing the food with delight, and is about to take a bite when he glances up and notices the camera. Almost simultaneously, his cheeks turn rosy.

_“Victor!”_ he scolds, startling the real-life Victor for a moment, before he realizes that he’s talking to the cameraman. Who, when he speaks, does in fact share Victor’s voice.

_“What?”_ his onscreen self asks innocently. _“You said inside the apartment was fine.”_

_“But when I’m eating?”_ Yuuri whines. _“You said you would only record the ‘interesting’ stuff.”_

_“You should know by now,_ zvezda, _I find everything about you interesting.”_

Victor watches with wide eyes as Yuuri looks away, clearly blushing. But he doesn’t look displeased, he notes.

_“You’re so weird,”_ Yuuri mutters. He picks his chopsticks up again and finally takes a bite of the… whatever it is in front of him. His expression quickly melts into one of euphoria, and onscreen Victor chuckles.

_“You just look so happy eating your pork cutlet bowls,”_ he says. _“It’s just so cute. Like when you save your strawberries for me whenever we have pancakes for breakfast. Or when you play with the dog after your classes. Oh, but it’s not nearly as cute as the face you make when I’m inside yo-!”_

_“OKAY,”_ Yuuri shouts, scrambling to reach over the table and snatch the camera away from the laughing, onscreen Victor. _“That’s enough, turn that off!”_

The camera moves wildly, and just before it turns off, Victor catches a glimpse of himself, laughing gleefully. Then the video stops, and Victor is left to stare at an unmoving screen.

That really was him. There’s no faking that. His voice, his face… Sure, he seems more… how did Chris put it? ‘Jovial’? But regardless, that had to be Victor.

He just couldn’t remember a damn moment of it.

Taking a deep breath, he clicks on another video. Makkachin, meanwhile, has padded up to him, hopping up on the couch to rest his head in his master’s lap. He lays a hand on the poodle’s head while the screen loads the video, revealing to Victor yet again, Yuuri Katsuki. This time, however, he’s lying on a sofa, a tablet in his hands. He glances at the camera and doesn’t even groan, just raises an eyebrow.

_“Should I even ask what you’re filming now?”_ he says.

_“No,”_ Onscreen Victor chirps back. He circles around Yuuri before setting the camera down on a coffee table and facing it towards the Japanese man. Then, Onscreen Victor makes his way back over to the sofa, where he drapes himself on top of Yuuri and wraps his arms around his waist. Onscreen Victor rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, smiling dazedly at him. Yuuri smiles back, and presses a quick kiss to Victor’s forehead. Instantly, Onscreen Victor makes a face.

_“Why do you keep kissing my forehead like that?”_ he pouts.

_“There’s more surface area,”_ Yuuri quips back, hiding a grin behind his tablet, but Victor can obviously see it.

_“Yuuri!”_ Onscreen Victor gasps. _“You’re so cruel!”_ He wrestles with Yuuri in his grip, the younger man fighting back just as playfully, until a familiar brown dog bounds into view.

_“Ah, Makkachin!”_ Onscreen Victor says as he spots the poodle. _“Avenge me!”_

As if responding to the command, Makkachin hops up onto the sofa and begins licking all over Yuuri’s face. Yuuri yelps, but he’s laughing, too.

_“Wait, stop, okay! I’m sorry, Makka, stop!”_ he gets out between laughs.

Victor watches this all with a shocked expression. He slowly looks down at his Makkachin, the real one, and finds the dog watching the screen with a lolling tongue.

“Makka, You... You remember him.” It’s not a question. “You remember Yuuri.”

Makkachin gives a soft _borf_ in reply. Victor nearly collapses into his couch, which causes Makkachin to startle and walk off; Victor doesn’t pay attention to where he goes. If Makkachin remembers… Of course, this definitely explains the poodle’s reaction to Masaru Amari all those months ago.

Maybe… Maybe Chris was right. He and Yuuri had to have known each other. How else could these be explained? The only thing that felt off was Onscreen Victor’s personality, but Chris had explained that, too. He’d been… altered. Was _that_ how Victor had been before?

Was _that_ who Yuuri Katsuki was in love with?

Victor shakes his head, clearing away the thought. Just because he has proof that he and Yuuri were involved, doesn’t mean that the rest of Chris’s story was true. He still couldn’t believe that his grandfather could do such a thing. Or that Yakov would help.

Frowning, his eyes catch sight of the video labeled _‘MERCY’._ Out of curiosity, he clicks on it.

_“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,”_ Yuuri’s voice is immediately heard murmuring. The video itself shows nothing but an oddly familiar maroon. As the camera adjusts, Victor realizes with a jolt that it’s the same maroon bedspread he has in his bedroom at this very moment.

Only now, Yuuri Katsuki is laid out on top of it, completely naked.

The Japanese man is blushing, not just on his cheeks, but his ears, shoulders, and chest, too. His fists are curled into the sheets, and he looks anywhere but at the camera; shy, demure, and oh so lovely to look at.

Onscreen Victor chuckles as he films Yuuri’s nude form. His neck is covered in small pink and purple bruises, and his cock is hard, twitching cutely once the camera zooms in on it, as if it’s aware it’s being filmed. He brings the camera back up to Yuuri’s face.

_“It’s not just for me,”_ says Onscreen Victor. _“You’re going to have it, too. For the nights we can’t be together. Like the upcoming weekend.”_

_“It’s a three day trip for school, Victor, can’t you go that long without sex?”_ groans Yuuri.

_“I’m afraid not. I’ve become addicted to your body,_ zvyozdochka,” Onscreen Victor’s voice goes low, almost a growl. _“I need something stronger than my own imagination to get me off now. Besides, it didn’t take you much convincing.”_

Yuuri pouts adorably. _“W-Well… It’s not fair if it’s just me on camera, right?”_

Without further explanation, Yuuri reaches up and plucks the camera from Onscreen Victor’s grasp. He turns it around and suddenly Victor sees himself again, but he’s just as naked as Yuuri, and just as hard. His cock curves up against his stomach, dripping with precum and what looks to be lube. Onscreen Victor beams at the camera, unashamed, and grips his erection at the base.

_“Oh? Does my Yuuri want a show, then?”_

_“You’re so embarrassing,”_ Yuuri says, but without any heat. If anything, he sounds breathless.

_“I can’t help it. Look at what you do to me,_ zvezda.” As he speaks, Onscreen Victor begins pumping his cock slowly; Victor hears Yuuri’s breath hitch. _“I’m so weak for you…”_

_“Vitya…”_ Yuuri says, and Victor’s heart lurches. Yuuri’s voice when he says that name… It’s both tender and sultry, to his utter disbelief. He leans forward a bit just as Yuuri throws the camera aside, where it lands in the sheets; the angle it lands in, luckily, shows Onscreen Victor’s bemused face as Yuuri surges up and pulls him into a hungry kiss.

Victor swallows thickly as he watches, feeling his own cock stir in his pants. But he makes no move to relieve himself, too enraptured by the goings-on in the video.

As soon as he breaks the kiss, Yuuri reaches down and joins his hand with Onscreen Victor’s on his cock. His lips are still lightly touching the older man’s when he murmurs, _“Please, Vitya…”_

Onscreen Victor moves quickly, pinning Yuuri onto the bed. Regrettably, Victor can’t see very much; he can only hear Yuuri’s pleased gasps and moans of pleasure as Onscreen Victor does _something_ to him. Luckily, the camera is picked up again, once more looking down at Yuuri, who is dazed and panting. A string of saliva leaks out of the corner of his mouth.

_“Beautiful,”_ Onscreen Victor purrs, and Victor is inclined to agree.

The view pans down just enough to show that Yuuri’s legs are spread and lifted. The Japanese man is parting his own asscheeks with his hands, revealing his pink, twitching hole with no shame. It’s obviously already been stretched; it looks hungry, desperate for something to fill it up. Yuuri’s expression is much the same.

Victor bites his lip. _Fuck._

_“Come on, Vitya,”_ he entices. _“Do me.”_

Onscreen Victor groans. Using one hand - the other holding the camera relatively steady - he grips his cock again and pushes into Yuuri’s entrance, the video capturing every moment of it. It catches the way Yuuri throws his head back and mewls; it catches the way his hole stretches wide over Onscreen Victor’s cock to accommodate its girth; and it captures the way Onscreen Victor pants, sounding wrecked already, even though they’ve only just gotten started.

Once he’s all the way inside, Onscreen Victor wastes no time before he starts pistoning his hips in and out of Yuuri. It seems to be a labor to hold up the camera now, but he keeps it focused on Yuuri’s beautiful form, which Victor is grateful for.

Yuuri’s back is arched, drawing attention to his rosy, pert nipples, looking as though they’ve been played with beforehand. His cock bobs against his belly, dripping profusely with each powerful thrust inside. And his _face._ His eyes are rolled back into his head, but what Victor can see of his irises are mostly black, his pupils dilated so much he can barely see any russet brown. His mouth is pink and plump, spilling obscenities every second, and his face is flushed an attractive shade of red.

He looks like Eros incarnate. Victor slides a hand down to his crotch, cupping the growing bulge with a hiss.

_“So good, Vitya,”_ pants Yuuri. _“So fucking good… Keep fucking me, make me come all over myself…”_

Victor presses his hand harder, just as Onscreen Victor gives a breathless laugh.

_“That’s the plan,_ zvezda.”

He picks up the pace, pounding into Yuuri almost relentlessly now. Yuuri shouts his approval, and the camera shakes a little more violently in turn.

_“I’m coming, Vitya, I’m… fuck!”_ Yuuri barely manages to get out the words before his cock erupts, spilling white, thick ropes onto his chest. Victor groans at the sight, mirroring his onscreen self, who keeps thrusting his hips, fucking Yuuri through his orgasm.

_“You look so gorgeous like this, darling,”_ he says. _“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, too… Where do you want it? You want me to come inside, Yuuri?”_

Yuuri moans at the suggestion, but he shakes his head. _“N-No… On my face, Vitya. Please?”_

Victor gasps, but Onscreen Victor complies, pulling out of Yuuri as soon as the ‘please?’ leaves his mouth. He moves to straddle the Japanese man’s torso, camera capturing the way he pumps his cock furiously. But Yuuri bats his hand away, gripping the leaking member with his own two hands. He gazes up at the camera.

_“Let me?”_ he begs. Onscreen Victor must nod, struck speechless by the creature of lust before him. Victor can sympathize; not even Haruhiko had been so thoroughly erotic. He can’t help it anymore - he unzips his pants and takes out his own dick.

Yuuri brings Onscreen Victor to completion with long, tight, and fast strokes. Victor tries his best to mirror his movements. At this rate, he knows it’s not long before he comes. Especially when Yuuri opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, lapping at the head of Onscreen Victor’s cock. That seems to do it for him - with little more than a strangled yell, Onscreen Victor comes, covering Yuuri’s tongue, cheeks, nose, and even some of his hair with his seed.

Blessedly, the camera captures all of this.

Victor comes purely from the visual of Yuuri swallowing his come, even going as far to lick his lips afterwards. He’s a mess now, completely debauched. And he looks like he loves it.

Onscreen Victor has the foresight to place the camera aside so that he can lean down and kiss Yuuri again. He doesn’t seem to mind the come that smears onto his own face, though Yuuri giggles at it when they part.

_“You’re unbelievable,”_ rasps Onscreen Victor. _“You’re going to kill me one day, Yuuri.”_

_“Don’t be dramatic,”_ Yuuri replies fondly, running a hand through Onscreen Victor’s hair. _“Are you happy now? You have your video.”_

“Da. _So, so happy. You made it so wonderful.”_

_“Just make sure no one else ever sees it, okay?”_ Yuuri grabs Onscreen Victor’s face and levels him with a stern look, the effect of which is somewhat ruined by the come still dripping down his face. _“Vitya. Promise me.”_

Onscreen Victor snorts. _“I promise,_ zvyozdochka,” he says, kissing Yuuri’s palm. _“Ah, we should probably clean up.”_

Yuuri yawns. _“Mmhm…”_

Onscreen Victor smiles serenely at him for a moment, before reaching over and turning off the camera. Victor is left to stare at a blank screen, his knuckles stained with his own come. He feels…

He feels awful.

That video wasn’t for him. It was for… for whatever version of him that existed before. The rational part of his mind reasoned with him, saying that they were the same person, right? So it shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. Yuuri wanted that video to stay between him and _his_ Victor, and he… just wasn’t that.

Quietly, Victor cleans himself up and shuts his laptop, refusing to look at it for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Eros picks at his plate, smiling absently as he pushes around a strawberry with his fork. Beside him, Agape is eating his own breakfast, as is Philautia and Philia, who are sitting with them.

“Oh,” says Philia, suddenly, pausing his movements. “I wanted to ask Eros something.”

Eros looks up, curious.

“What happened to the lady that used to take you to your treatments?”

The Active blinks. “I… don’t know.”

“Maybe she’s on vacation?” suggests Philautia.

“Vacations sound nice,” comments Philia. The two share a smile before going back to their food, the conversation seemingly finished. Eros glances at Agape, who shrugs before eating another bite of his food, and Eros turns to look down at his own plate once more. His pancakes are mostly gone, leaving just trace amounts of syrup, whipped cream, and a single, large strawberry. He smiles and pushes his plate away.

Agape notices this, and frowns. Swallowing first, he asks, “Eros? Do you not like strawberries anymore?”

Eros shakes his head. “No, I’m saving it. I always save them for him.”

“For who?” asks Philautia.

“For…” Eros pauses. Huh. He actually can’t remember. He’s never saved them before, has he? He frowns down at the strawberry, as if that will answer his questions.

But then, the man with the ponytail comes up and taps Eros on the shoulder. He looks up to see the man’s broad smile. He's nice. Just not as nice as the woman before.

“Eros, it’s time for your treatment.”

He smiles up at the man. “I love my treatments.”

The man gestures for Eros to follow him, already leaving the kitchen in long, measured strides. Eros stands, pushes in his chair, and nods to Agape.

“You can have the strawberry,” he says. Agape blinks at him, and then Eros turns to follow after the man.

Maybe he’ll remember later.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Victor enters the Safehouse with a drawn-out sigh. Another boring work week has passed, but at least now they can discuss their next move. He walks towards the living room, where he assumes everyone else is gathered.

He’d watched the rest of the cache. Admittedly, he kind of had to force himself to, but he’d gotten it done. It was more of the same - though there was never another sex tape, the rest of them consisted mainly of Yuuri and… the old Victor being disgustingly in love and happy. It made Victor’s chest hurt.

Yuuri Katsuki was so different from what he expected. The crying, morose man he’d seen in that tape so long ago was nowhere to be seen in the cache. He was shy, yes, but vibrant and passionate, too. He sasses Victor nigh constantly, he teased and laughed with him. He was sweet and gentle and more than a little embarrassed at Victor’s constant filming of him, but he never yelled at Victor or got too angry.

Distressingly, Victor could only sum him up in one word: _perfect._

There’s no denying it now… he’s kind of in love with this Yuuri Katsuki.

He runs and hand through his hair and holds back a sigh. Turning the corner of the hallway that leads into the living room, Victor expects to see Guang-Hong, Emil, Chris, and Minako sitting at the couch, waiting for him so they can start formulating a plan. And yes, when he enters the room, he sees mostly that. Guang-Hong and Emil are on one couch, while Chris is on the other...

Except Minako is standing, her entire posture defensive, as her arms are raised and - is she holding a gun?!

Victor blinks, then yelps, causing every head in the room to swivel towards him.

All _five_ heads.

His gaze follows Minako’s gun, only to find the person it’s pointed at _very_ familiar.

Seated next to Chris, Yakov raises an eyebrow.

“Hello, Vitya.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM yakov, bitches  
> (I wrote part of this on my phone and it kept correcting yakov to 'yak' like jfc)
> 
> Chapter 16 should definitely not be this long, but at this point, who really knows. I'm just very excited for 17, which I've wanted to write for months now. it's a good one y'all
> 
> also I'm updating the tags to have Chris/Minako be official. like it was just supposed to be a flirtationship but now I'm just as invested in them as I am in Victuuri please send help


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov tells his side of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my classes ended early, which left me with a lot of free time, which means... I wrote most of this in a couple of hours.
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

* * *

 

 

Seconds seem to last hours. Victor, as well as everyone else, is watching Yakov with varying degrees of suspicion, fear, and trepidation. Minako keeps her gun trained directly at his face, though the old man hardly seems bothered by it.

Victor is the first to speak, breaking the silence. “Yakov… H-How…?”

Yakov’s answering tone is annoyingly neutral. “I planted a tracker on your car. Once I saw what direction you were headed, it wasn’t hard to guess your destination. Now sit down, Vitya, please. And Okukawa, do put that thing away.”

“Are you kidding me?” Minako snaps. “After you just show up out of the blue? No I’m not putting this away!”

“Minako,” interrupts Chris; he sounds a touch calmer than the rest of them, but he still eyes Yakov warily. “Mr. Feltsman. I’m sorry, but surely you understand why we’re all a little… tense.”

He nods. “Of course, of course. But rest assured, I’m here to help you lot.”

“Help?” echoes Guang-Hong with a frown. “You work directly for the Chairman. You really expect us to believe that?”

Yakov grimaces. But to Victor’s horror, he doesn’t deny it. Which means...

“Then, it’s… It’s all true?” murmurs Victor. “You and  _ Dedushka…  _ You…”

For a moment, Yakov’s face twists. Either with regret, anger, or sadness, none of them are sure. Then the old man sighs, turning his gaze back onto Victor, who flinches.

“Vitya… I’m so sorry. But please understand, I thought what we were doing was for your own good.”

“For…” Victor’s expression turns angry. “For my own good? Do you have any idea what you cost me?”

Every eye in the room turns to Victor, and Yakov raises an eyebrow yet again.

“Do  _ you?” _

“Chris had videos,” he bites out. “Of what I was like before - of Yuuri and I.”

“And you believe them?” Yakov continues, stare burning into Victor’s. Victor is quiet. Yakov huffs out a laugh. “Or do you just  _ want _ to believe them?”

Minako readjusts her grip on her gun, arm tensing. “Are you just here to make Victor doubt us? Is that your idea of ‘help’?”

“Quite the contrary. Vitya obviously wants to believe the videos are real, and that’s good. And I assure you, my boy, they are real. I’m glad Chris found them.”

A beat passes. Chris’s expression morphs from wary to full-on shock.

“Wait, did  _ you  _ leave the cache?”

Yakov sighs. “I’d be more than happy to explain if your woman would stop waving that gun in my face.”

Chris turns to Minako, as does everyone else. The former handler scowls, but reluctantly turns the safety on her gun back on and tucks it away, moving to sit down next to Chris with a sour expression.

Yakov nods at her. “Thank you. Vitya?” He gestures for Victor to take the seat across from him. Victor wills his feet to move, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the old man as he sits beside Emil.

“Start from the beginning,” says Chris, and then everyone else falls silent as Yakov takes his turn to speak.

“Anton and I have known each other since childhood,” he begins. “And even from an early age, I knew what sort of man he would be. Ambitious, clever, and perhaps even ruthless. But he was my best friend, so I went along with his plans, whatever they were. When we reached college, he approached me about starting up our own business, and thus Aelita was born.

“For a while, things were alright. Aelita wasn’t thriving, per se, but we were making a profit. It was quite the achievement for a couple of college sophomores. Then Anton came to me one day and told me that he’d received a very… interesting offer. Apparently, he’d made a big enough impression on a certain group from America, and they wanted him to head the St. Petersburg branch of what they called the ‘Dollhouse project’.”

Yakov grimaces. “I remember being skeptical, but Anton was thrilled with the idea. And, I admit, the technology was fascinating. So when he asked me to join him, I did. We built the facility, gathered handlers and staff, and looked into prospective candidates for the Actives. I decided on being a handler myself, to observe the behaviors of the Actives more closely.

“Then after a few years of running the Dollhouse, Anton decided to start a family. He married Valentina Romanova, and together they had a son; your father, Dimitri. Anton was so set on raising Dimitri to be his successor…”

“Did  _ Babushka  _ know?” Victor interrupts, eyes hard. “About the Dollhouse?”

“... I don’t know,” admits Yakov. “She never stopped by the facility. And we never talked about work unless we were alone.”

Victor’s mouth presses into a tight line, but he’s quiet, so Yakov continues.

“Unfortunately, while Dimitri was more than alright with taking over Aelita, once Anton told him about the Dollhouse… He was disgusted. They had a falling out over it, and eventually Anton disowned him. Dimitri went off, getting his own job at a different company, where he met Ekaterina… And then they had you, Vitya.

“Your father tried to make amends with Anton by then; he figured he deserved the chance to meet his grandson, but Anton was stubborn. He refused to even speak with his own son unless he was coming back to take over the company. For a long time, only your grandmother and I were the ones who went out to see you.”

Victor swallows thickly, digesting the information. He’d been old enough when his parents died to remember them well; his father, always tired from work but never failing to crack jokes at dinner; and his mother, beautiful and and kind maybe a bit scary when the need arose. He never imagined that his father was disowned. Honestly, when he was younger, he only knew his grandmother, and thought that she and Yakov were married for the longest time. They never spoke of his grandfather, not until the accident claimed their lives and Victor was sent off to live with him and  _ Babushka _ . 

He remembers that he found Anton… intimidating.

Yakov is still going, so Victor forces himself out of his thoughts to keep listening.

“When the accident happened… We were all devastated. Even Anton seemed to regret his actions… for a time. When custody of you fell to him and Valentina, however, he got a new idea. He’d mold you into the successor your father never was; you were his second chance.”

“That’s horrid,” exclaims Guang-Hong, looking scandalized. Emil doesn’t look much better, but Chris and Minako have practiced looks of neutrality on their faces. Victor envies them.

“That was when I began having my doubts… Or when they began to grow, at least,” says Yakov. Then, a smile slowly stretches across his lips. “But of course, Vitya, you weren’t easy to work with. You had no interest in Aelita at all. You wanted to go off and see the world, not be stuck behind a desk. Anton tried keeping you on a short leash, but it only resulted in you lashing out at him. It resulted in a lot of incidents that he had to pay to keep out of the tabloids.”

Well, Victor remembers _that._ For a while, it was his life’s mission to embarrass his grandfather and make his life hell. He’d thought it was merely his rebellious teenage phase come a bit late.

“Finally, Valentina convinced him to let you run free for a while. At the very least, maybe you wouldn’t resent him so much. So he let you go to the University of Moscow, and that, of course, is where you met Yuuri Katsuki.”

Victor’s breath hitches.

“A dance major, all the way from a tiny little town in Japan. The moment you set eyes on him, any hopes Anton still had of a successor were dashed with finality. Despite Anton’s efforts, you were adamant on being with him. He even used his money to get the poor boy expelled and his visa terminated. But that ended up backfiring. You came to his office one day and told him you were moving with Yuuri to Japan. You were going to marry him.

“Of course, Anton couldn’t have that. So he… He faked your death with a car accident, and brought you to the Dollhouse to be altered. But I imagine Chris told you all about that already.”

Chris and Victor nod simultaneously.

Yakov steeples his fingers and breathes in deeply. “I was the only one Anton trusted to look after you, so he made me your handler.”

“And you accepted?” That was Minako. To Victor’s surprise, she didn’t sound as angry as he thought she’d be, considering her previous hostility. Rather, she just sounded… curious. “Sounds to me like Victor was a surrogate grandson to you. Why would you let Anton do that to him?”

Yakov’s mouth twists again. “I have no real excuse for my actions, or lack thereof. But I suppose… some part of still wanted to believe that my old childhood friend still cared. That he really was doing this for Victor’s benefit. He’d be successful, wealthy, he’d never want for anything…”

“He just wouldn’t have love,” finishes Chris.

Yakov is quiet at that. He only nods his head down once.

After a few moments, Victor finds his voice. “What changed? Why didn’t you delete the videos if you thought I was better off this way? Why come clean  _ now?” _

“I found the cache myself by accident,” confesses Yakov. “And I knew I shouldn’t have, but I watched them.  _ All  _ of them, before you ask,” he gives Victor a pointed look, and despite the somber atmosphere of the room, Victor’s face heats up. 

He saw the sex tape. He hears Chris snicker beside Yakov and realizes with a jolt that Chris probably saw it, too.

Jesus Christ. 

“Some of the more… questionable videos aside, it was clear that you were happy. And the more I saw the new you, the more I realized how drastically different you were now. I couldn’t bring myself to erase those memories, and I knew Anton wouldn’t find them unless he went out of his way, so I… I left them there. I hadn’t expected Chris to find them like he did, but like I said before… I’m glad it happened.”

Everyone seems to be absorbing this, but Victor just takes a deep breath, and then exhales. 

“Did you know about Yuuri?” he asks. “Did you know he became a Doll?”

Quickly, Yakov shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Not until a few days ago. Anton didn’t even tell me when  _ he _ found out.”

“What happened a few days ago?”

“...”

“ _ Yakov.” _

“... You wouldn’t like it.”

“I don’t like a lot of things right now,” snaps Victor. “What. Happened.”

He stares hard at the older man. His second grandfather, his previously-trusted confidante. Now he doesn’t know what he is to him. Yakov stares back for a few moments.

…and then he talks.

 

* * *

 

_ “Anton?” Yakov calls out. He’s just entered Anton’s expansive home, absently thanking a servant for letting him in. Usually, at this time of night, Anton is either in the sitting room enjoying a drink, or more likely, up in his home office, still working. He turns to look at the servant, who bows her head in deference. _

_ “Master Nikiforov is… entertaining another guest.” _

_ Yakov raises a brow. Anton usually tells him if he’s expecting company. To his surprise, however, the servant’s cheeks turn a shade of pink. _

_ “I-In the bedroom.” _

_ Yakov blinks. But Anton never... not since Valentina died. He claimed he was done with romance, that without his beloved Valenka, he could never find love again. Surely the servant was mistaken. _

_ He walks off without another word, making his way up the stairs. But as he goes, he can’t help but feel… odd. Like something terrible looms ahead. He’s been in this house so many times, though, what has he to fear? He knows all the nooks and crannies as if it were his own home.  _

_ There are no surprises to be found here. _

_ Coming upon Anton’s bedroom, he steels himself, ready to raise his hand and knock… Only, the door swings open before he’s even in front of it. And Anton is not the one who walks out. _

_ Yakov freezes. Yuuri Katsuki saunters out of the room, looking almost exactly like the boy from Vitya’s videos. Only, his glasses are gone, his hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing an outfit not unlike what Yakov sees on prostitutes on street corners. His neck is littered with pinkish bruises, and his lips are swollen in the way that only kissing can produce. _

_ He walks a few steps, and Yakov notices a very pronounced limp. _

_ Yuuri stops a few steps short upon seeing Yakov. He frowns at the man. _

_ “Who are you?” he asks.  _

_ Yakov opens his mouth to speak. Then closes it again. Before he can gather his thoughts, Anton follows Yuuri out, looking decidedly disheveled, his normally immaculate hair a mess, and clothes rumpled. _

_ “Who are you talking to… Oh.” Anton spots Yakov, too. “Yasha. I wasn’t expecting you to arrive so early.” _

_ Yakov can only gawk, horrified. Anton smiles and turns to Yuuri. _

_ “Excuse my friend, Haruhiko. Go on, I’ll have my driver take you home.” _

_ Yuuri - or is it Haruhiko? Yakov’s certain he hasn’t misremembered the boy’s name, though it has been several years - huffs, and continues walking until he passes Yakov. He doesn’t say anything more, and soon, he disappears from their line of sight. _

_ Anton chuckles, drawing Yakov’s attention back to him. “I have to admit, I’m starting to see his appeal. If he was anything like  _ that  _ with Victor…” _

_ It all clicks in one sudden, revolting moment for Yakov.  _

_ “What… What is wrong with you?” he half-whispers. Anton raises an eyebrow. _

_ “Excuse me?” _

_ “I thought he was back in Japan,” Yakov says, his voice rising. He approaches Anton until he’s directly in front of him. “What is Yuuri Katsuki doing here? And as a  _ Doll?!”

_ “Oh, I must’ve forgotten to tell you. It’s a long story, Yasha. Come, we’ll have drinks, and I’ll explain everything.” _

_ He starts to move, but Yakov grabs him by the arm to stop him. _

_ “Are you insane?!” _

_ Anton sneers, shoving Yakov’s hand off him. “Relax. That boy isn’t Yuuri Katsuki anymore. He’s just a mindless Doll. Seems he finally found his calling.” _

_ “How could you do that, Anton? Victor loved that boy!” _

_ At that, Anton smirks. It’s a cruel, but not unfamiliar, look… Yakov just never imagined it would ever be directed at him. _

_ “Exactly.  _ ‘Loved’.  _ Victor doesn’t care about him anymore; he doesn’t even know him.” _

_ “That doesn’t mean you can just…” _

_ “Do you have some kind of grievance, Yakov?” interrupts Anton. “It’s not against the rules to sample my own merchandise. You can have a go with him too, if you’d like.” _

_ Yakov reels back, his features twisting in revulsion. Anton just laughs at him. _

_ “This is disgusting,” Yakov spits out. “Anton, please, reconsider this - !” _

_ “There’s nothing to reconsider,” Anton replies smoothly. “My own staff rebelled against me, and they’ve been dealt with. My Vitenka is just as he should be. I’ve earned the right to celebrate.” _

_ “And your grandson’s former lover?” Yakov growls. “He’s your prize? He has to pay the price for their mistakes?” _

_ “Oh, Yasha.” Anton walks up to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not ‘paying’ for anything.” That cruel smile is still in place, and the next thing he says makes Yakov shudder. _

_ “He’s programmed to enjoy it.” _

 

* * *

 

“I left, after that,” Yakov murmurs, staring down at his lap. “I couldn’t look at him anymore.”

When he glances up, the reactions are as he expects. Horror, disgust, shock… And all of these are especially evident on Victor’s features. Yakov’s heart clenches at the sight. He should’ve done something before. Victor didn’t deserve this, they had no  _ right  _ to do this to him - 

“So, essentially,” Minako pipes up, cutting through his thoughts, “you finally realized Anton was a self-serving asshole?”

“In… simple terms, yes.” Yakov sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “He’s certainly not the boy I grew up with anymore…”

“... I’m sorry,” she says, frowning. “But I still don’t know if I trust you. You can say all these things, but…”

“I understand. Which is why, I’ve brought something that will hopefully change your mind…”

He begins reaching into his coat pocket, pausing only when he sees Minako draw her gun again. He sends her a look, and she returns it with an unrepentant stare of her own.

“It’s not a weapon,” he drawls.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He shakes his head, and finally sticks his hand in his pocket, pulling out his ‘gift’ a few seconds later. It’s a metallic rectangle, decorated with an inelegant mix of circuits and wires. Minako, Chris, Emil, and Guang-Hong all stare at it, recognition evident in their eyes. But Victor is just confused.

“What is that?” he asks warily. He’s not yet recovered from Yakov’s earlier bombshell, he knows, but time is of the essence now. 

“This,” he says, holding up the metal, “is you, Vitya. The real you. Everything you were before Anton came in and changed you for his own purposes.”

“It’s a personality wedge,” breathes Guang-Hong.

Victor's eyes snap to the wedge. Now he stares at it, just like everyone else.

“... Guang-Hong,” says Chris, voice commanding. “Check it. Make sure it’s not a trap. And be careful.”

Startled into action, the programmer nods. He rises to his feet and cautiously makes his way over to Yakov. Yakov hands him the wedge with little complaint. Then, the young man scurries away, out of the living room to wherever they’ve got the chair stashed in this Safehouse.

The next few minutes are spent in a tense silence. But eventually Emil speaks up, even raising his hand slightly to catch Yakov’s eye.

“Erm… Mr. Feltsman? If I may, there’s still something I don’t understand.”

Yakov grunts. “Yes? What is it?”

“Chris told us you resigned as Victor’s handler a while back, and that you picked Georgi Popovich as your replacement. I’m just wondering… why?”

“Hmph.” Yakov crosses his arms over his chest. “What did you tell them?” he asks Chris.

“What you told me,” the blond replies. “That you wanted to work more with Aelita than the Dollhouse.”

“Well, I suppose that much is true. I was already growing weary of the handler business. And since Victor never went out all that often, I wasn’t doing much.”

“But why Popovich?” inquires Minako.

“I trained that boy when he first came to work at the Dollhouse,” he answers. “He’s a good man. A bit sensitive, but competent nonetheless.”

Victor gives him a long look. “... You know, Georgi was the one who recommended that I use the Dollhouse in the first place?”

“Ah, that was at my suggestion.”

“...  _ What?” _

Yakov’s beginning to grow tired of the gobsmacked expressions, but he supposes they’re to be expected.

“You were so…  _ lifeless,  _ Vitya,” he explains. “I figured one night couldn’t hurt you, and Senator Sokolov’s gala provided the perfect opportunity. So I told Georgi to nudge you in the right direction. Of course, I wasn’t counting on you picking your former fiance out of the several Dolls available, but I didn’t know it was him until later.” Despite himself, there’s a slight upwards tilt to Yakov’s lips. “I suppose when you think about it, it was fate,  _ da?” _

“It  _ is  _ kind of romantic,” admits Emil. “In a really messed up, disturbing kind of way.”

Yakov rolls his eyes. But then he catches sight of Victor again, who’s staring down at his hands, which rest in clenched fists on his knees. He looks pale, bordering on nauseous, and once again, Yakov curses himself for not stepping in all those years ago.

But before he can say anything, Guang-Hong comes back, holding up the wedge with an air of triumph.

“It’s clean,” he announces. Then, shooting a furtive glance at Victor, he asks Chris, “Should we…?”

Chris turns to Victor. “It’s up to you, Mr. Nikiforov. You don’t have to now.”

To everyone’s shock, Victor stands. “No,” he says, voice steady. “No, let’s do it. Now.”

“Are you sure, Vitya?” asks Yakov, his brow furrowing. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“It  _ is  _ a big file,” confirms Guang-Hong, with a wince.

“I don’t care,” Victor shakes his head. “If even one thing you’ve said about my grandfather these past few days in true… I don’t want to be the person he made me for a second longer. Do it now.”

Minako smirks softly. “Well, you heard the man.”

Wordlessly, the rest of them get up and follow Guang-Hong to the chair room. Victor in unwavering as he moves to sit in the chair, the grim expression never leaving his face. For a moment, Yakov feels proud.

Guang-Hong plugs the wedge into a slot on his console, then fiddles with a number of controls and switches. He turns back to Victor.

“Are you ready?”

Victor, undaunted, nods. Guang-Hong pushes the final button, and suddenly there’s a blinding succession of flashing lights...

… And then Victor remembers.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (giddy screaming because chapter 17 is next)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor, before.
> 
> Or, alternatively: Flashback, the Chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 18 pages of fluff, angst, and a touch of smut. I was so excited to write this chapter, can y'all tell
> 
> Also, I'd like to formally apologize for the last chapter, because I honestly wasn't expecting such a strong reaction to the scene with Anton and Haruhiko. I heard some people got squicked out and had to breeze past it, and I'm sorry about that ;; But I mean... I guess it's good that you all hate Anton so much? That was kind of the point lol.
> 
> You'll probably hate him more after this chapter (◕‿◕✿)

* * *

 

Victor is seven.

It’s late at night - far, far past Victor’s bedtime, but he’d been unable to sleep. So he creeps downstairs from his room to find his parents, hoping to persuade one (or hopefully, both) of them to read him another story.

Their house is new, so the floors don’t creak as Victor tiptoes down the hallway. He spots a light coming from his Papa’s study, and as he gets closer, he hears his familiar voice, too.

Only, Papa sounds different.

“Please, be reasonable…”

Victor reaches the door and pushes it open just a bit with his free hand. His other arm is curled around a tiny stuffed poodle, which he holds close to his chest. Inside the study is his Papa, which isn’t unusual. Mama is there, too, sitting on one of the chairs in her nightgown, silvery hair falling in a cascade down her shoulders. She’s watching Papa with worried eyes.

Papa himself, still half-dressed from work in a rumpled white shirt and black trousers, holds a phone to his ear. Whoever he’s talking to, even Victor can tell it isn’t a pleasant conversation.

“No, I… What the hell?” Papa’s expression becomes angry. “That’s no reason you can’t at least _see_ him! For god’s sake!”

Victor shrinks back, eyes wide. He’s never seen Papa like that. Mama gets up from her chair and walks over, placing a hand on Papa’s shoulder. He startles, like he hadn’t realized she was there, but relaxes once he sees his wife’s face. He doesn’t smile, however, because whoever is on the other line is still talking.

“... You know what?” Papa finally says, after a few minutes have passed. “Fine. Suit yourself, _Otets._ I’m done.”

Without another word, Papa wretches the phone away from his ear and hangs up, his features still furious. He tosses the phone onto his desk and then runs his hand through his hair. Mama leans closer, resting her head on  his shoulder.

“ _Lyubov…”_ she murmurs.

“I can’t believe that man,” mutters Papa. “How stubborn do you have to be to refuse to see your own family?”

Mama begins rubbing his back consolingly. “As stubborn as you to keep asking him to reconsider, maybe?”

He shoots her a baleful look, but then he sighs. “... I suppose you’re right. But no more. I am _done_ with that man.”

“He’s your father, Dima. Do you really mean that?”

“...”

Papa turns around, wrapping his arms around Mama’s waist. She, in turn, rests her arms around his shoulders, and they stand there, just holding each other.

Victor fidgets behind the door. He doesn’t like seeing Papa and Mama looking so upset. Gripping his plush tighter, he gathers up his courage and pushes at the door, poking his head through the opening it creates. As the door creaks, Papa and Mama’s attention swerves to the doorway.

“Vitya?” his Mama asks. She breaks away from Papa to hurry to Victor’s side. Papa follows shortly after her, opening the door all the way so Victor can fully enter the room.

“... I couldn’t sleep,” Victor says, looking down.

“Oh, _solnyshko,”_ coos his mother, who scoops him into her arms. She hefts him up easily, because Victor’s Mama is strong, despite her petite frame. “Would you like another story?”

He nods demurely into the nape of her neck. “Yes, please.”

“Well then,” says Papa, who puts on a smile, “let’s go, shall we?”

They leave Papa’s study to journey back to Victor’s bedroom. Mama leads the way, Victor secure in her arms, and Papa follows behind. Victor watches Papa with wide eyes, and the older man notices.

“What is it, Vitya?” he asks. “Is there something on my face?”

Victor shakes his head slowly, his own long, silver hair mingling with Mama’s. “No.”

His smile widens. Victor watches his lips; Mama likes to say Papa’s smile is heart-shaped, just like Victor’s.

They reach Victor’s bedroom, tuck him back into his bed, and grab a book to read to him - Sleeping Beauty, Victor’s favorite.

Before long, Victor is drifting back to sleep. The last thing he sees before everything fades are his parents, smiling down at him with so much love in their eyes.

He falls asleep with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Victor is seventeen.

He has a large pile of suitcases on one side of him, and a poodle on the other. Makkachin’s tail is wagging, and he barks at the car as it pulls away from them, leaving Victor and his dog in front of the large, imposing manor.

The door opens before he can even knock, and he’s greeted with the sight of an older woman, with red hair streaked with grey, and kindly blue eyes. Victor barely has time to smile at her before she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him close.

“Oh, Vitenka,” she says. “How big you’ve grown!”

Victor, despite feeling perpetually shitty for the past few months, feels warmth blossom in his chest as he hugs the woman back.

“Hello, _Babushka,”_ he greets. Makkachin runs circles around them obviously excited.

Valentina Nikiforova breaks the embrace, though she never loses the smile on her face. Like Victor’s, it’s heart-shaped, and laced with sadness. “Well, come in. We’ve got your room all ready for you! Oh, and for Makka, of course!”

As if cued, a few servants exit the house, grabbing most of Victor’s things and carrying them inside. Makkachin follows them eagerly, leaving Victor with only a small backpack that he’s kept slung over his shoulder.

He follows his grandmother inside, carefully keeping his eyes on the floor. He’s never actually been in her home, though he has seen glimpses of it from Papa’s old childhood photos. It wouldn’t do to gawk, he thinks. And besides, he’ll have plenty of time to explore it properly later.

She leads him up a grand staircase and down a long hallway, until they stop at a door that looks like it was probably hand-carved, intricate wood designs embellishing its front. She ushers him inside, and then rushes off to fetch her husband.

Victor’s grandfather.

Victor barely even pays attention to the sheer size of his new bedroom, which is easily four times the size of his old one. His bags are already placed on the floor, and Makkachin has already claimed a spot at the foot of his four-poster bed. With a tired smile, Victor moves to sit beside his dog, scratching behind his ears. But inwardly, his thoughts drift back to his grandfather.

He’s never really met the man. He’s just seen him once, at the funeral, and even then, he left without saying a word to Victor. All he knows about him is second hand, either through Valentina, what little his Papa has ever said about him, and through his godfather, Yakov. By all accounts, he’s stern and harsh with his words, though Valentina insists he’s really a warm person once you break through his shell. Victor wonders if he can do that.

He shrugs off his backpack and opens it up, pulling one item from its insides. It’s a small photo frame, and within it is the last picture Victor ever took with his parents. On one of Papa’s rare days off, they’d gone to the beach. Victor is sixteen, his hair newly cut short, and flanking him are his parents. They’re all dressed appropriately for the location, and each of them are wearing bright grins on their faces. Makkachin sits at their feet, tongue lolling from his mouth as his tail is caught in mid-wag.

Victor smiles at the photo. He’s just placed it down on the bedside table when the door opens once again. He glances up, expecting to see Valentina, but it met with a tall, stoic man instead, and he recognizes him instantly.

Anton Nikiforov.

Anton raises an eyebrow. “Victor.”

“...” Victor stands. How should he address him? Anton? A more formal, ‘grandfather’? He opts for the safer option, “ _Dedushka?”_

Anton doesn’t reply to that. He merely narrows his eyes at Victor, who’s beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable. An uneasy feeling settles in his gut as Anton’s piercing eyes scan over him.

“You’re in public school, yes?” he asks suddenly.

Victor frowns, flustering for an answer to the unexpected question. “Er, ah… Y-Yes?”

“Drop out.”

“What - ?”

“We’ll hire private tutors for you.”

“But, I…” Victor takes a few steps forward. “I have friends at that school.”

Anton raises an eyebrow. “You can still speak with your friends, but if you’re going to live here, you’ll have only the finest education. And, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’ll find that at a public school.”

“...” Victor stares at his grandfather. “I… O-Okay…?”

Anton nods. “Good. Dinner is in a half an hour. Have the servants help you unpack.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and begins to walk out of the room, leaving a dumbfounded Victor in his wake. Only, he stops right at the door, turning his head slightly to speak again.

“... And welcome to our home, Victor.”

He disappears from Victor’s line of sight with those parting words.

Victor blinks a few times, shaking his head. He turns around, giving Makkachin another few pets before turning to the pile of luggage on the floor. He can probably unpack a few cases before dinner, he thinks.

As he sets to work, he reflects on the few words he’s shared with his grandfather now. He’s certainly blunt, Victor will give him that. But… he’d said welcome. So maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

The uneasiness in Victor’s gut, however, does not go away.

 

* * *

 

Victor is nineteen.

And he’s fucking angry.

He glares at the TV, though the program on display is a fairly innocuous comedy. Makkachin dozes in his lap, but even his beloved poodle does little to alleviate the fury radiating off of Victor in waves.

There’s a knock at his door. Victor’s tempted to tell whoever’s on the other side to fuck off, but it opens without awaiting his response, and he sees Valentina poke her head through the opening.

“Vitenka?” she asks, voice quiet. Her face shows how upset she is, and Victor feels a pang of guilt for causing his grandmother distress. None of this is her fault.

He doesn’t reply, merely turning back to stare blankly at the TV. Valentina comes in anyway, shutting the door behind her. She walks over to Victor’s bed, and sits beside him. For a while, neither of them say a word; Valentina just pets Makkachin while Victor looks ahead.

Finally, though, she does speak up.

“I wish you wouldn’t antagonize your grandfather like that.”

Victor almost groans. “What, like it was _my_ fault?”

“You blew off your tutors _again,_ Vitenka,” she reminds him, though not unkindly. “This is the fifth time this month. And that’s not counting the times you left early.”

“I’ve already graduated high school,” Victor mutters. “Why do I even need tutors anymore?” He sees Valentina open her mouth, and he holds up a hand to stop her. “I know, I know, they’re supposed to teach me about business and Aelita and _whatever._ But I fucking hate it.”

Valentina frowns. “You could’ve phrased it a little better than that to him.”

Victor grimaces. “... How pissed is he?”

“Extremely. Really, nowadays it seems like all you two ever do is yell at each other.”

“Maybe if _Dedushka_ weren’t such a hard ass…”

“Vitenka!”

“Sorry.” He isn’t, really, but he knows he shouldn’t stress his grandmother any further. “I just… hate the way he _expects_ things of me. I don’t want to take over his company. I don’t even _like_ business.”

Valentina reaches over and loops her arm around Victor’s shoulder. He lets her pull him in against his chest, closing his eyes as she runs her fingers through his hair. Just like his Papa would do when he was little.

“I know you don’t. But your grandfather doesn’t have anyone else he trusts with Aelita. You’re smart, Vitenka, I’m sure you could do it.”

“I don’t _want_ to,” he groans. He hates this. He hates how childish he sounds, he hates the conflicted expression on Valentina’s face. Most of all, right now, he hates his grandfather.

In the two years since Victor came to live with his grandparents, Anton slowly revealed his true colors. While he had sporadic moments of compassion, allowing Victor to have his friends over, or buying him whatever he wanted, it was clear that it was all in service of himself. He forced Victor to follow a schedule, to accompany him to events, all in the pursuit of pushing Victor towards Aelita.

Victor was having _none of it._

“Vitenka…” Valentina’s tone is soft. “What if… What I convinced Anton to loosen your leash a little?”

Victor slowly raises his head to raise an eyebrow at her. “What?”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out - Victor squints at it. A brochure? The words ‘University of Moscow’ are printed on its front, along with a picture of two smiling young adults in front of a school building. She holds it out to him, and he takes it with a wary look.

“What is this?”

“Exactly what it looks like. One of the finest schools in all of Russia. It’s where Anton and Yakov went, too.”

“... Why are you showing me this?”

“Well, if you hate your tutors so much, I figured maybe you’d do better in a less… personalized environment?”

Victor’s eyes widen as he cottons on to her meaning. “You… You think I should go to university?”

She shrugs innocently. “All of your friends already went off to college, why not you?”

“And _Dedushka_ is alright with this?” he asks dubiously.

“Well, it took some convincing,” admits Valentina. “But, it’s his alma mater… And you have to major in Business.”

Victor winces.

“But you can minor in whatever you’d like. I hear they have a popular Film Studies course. Oh, and they just started teaching Dance, isn’t that interesting?”

Victor just stares at his grandmother. “You… You convinced _Dedushka_ to let me do this?”

She smiles, reaching out again, this time cupping Victor’s cheek with her hand. “Vitenka… I just want you to be happy. And I know Anton does too, even if he goes about it in a different way. This could be just what you need.”

Abruptly, Victor pitches forward, startling both Valentina and Makkachin as he envelopes the former in a tight hug.

“Thank you, _Babushka,”_ he whispers.

He feels her arms wind around his back. “Of course, _solnyshko.”_

They stay like that for a while, until Makkachin makes an displeased yip and tries to wiggle his way in between them. Valentina laughs and coos at the poodle, and Victor can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.

 

* * *

 

Victor is twenty, and he is in love with university life.

Though he’s only a few months into his first year, he’s never had so much fun. The unbridled freedom of being a college student is intoxicating. He’s made new friends, learned new things, and he even has his own place he stays at with Makkachin, even though Anton technically paid for that.

He doesn’t even mind his Business classes that much. Sure, they’re dull compared to his Film courses, but he’s smart enough to breeze through the class, and that’s a small price to pay for the rest of the overwhelming positives university life offers.

He’s on his way to the library to meet up with some friends, humming a happy tune, not really paying attention to his surroundings. He’s learned the layout of the campus well, so he’s not worried about getting lost. He should, however, worry about running into other people, because that’s exactly what happens.

Victor collides with a solid mass that can only be another person, and because the other person was running, their greater momentum makes them both crash to the ground.

“Ow…” Victor groans. He feels the warm weight shifting on top of him and opens his eyes. There’s an angry reproach on his tongue, but as soon as his vision clears, the words evaporate.

Because Victor is looking at an angel.

Or rather, a young man. He’s got tousled black hair, brown eyes, and honestly, Victor can already tell that this is the prettiest man he’s ever seen.

And said pretty man is sitting on top of him. _Thank you, Lord._

The man’s eyes refocus, which is when he sees Victor lying beneath him. Those gorgeous chocolate eyes widen in panic, and to Victor’s dismay, he scrambles off Victor’s body, shouting apologies as he does.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Oh my god, are you hurt?”

Victor slowly sits up, staring at the man. Even his voice is pretty, and his accent - Japanese, Victor guesses - does nothing to detract from that. He feels something fall down his chest, and he glances down to see a pair of blue-framed glasses in his lap. He picks them up, holding them out towards the man.

“No… Um… a-are these yours?” he asks.

The man squints, his nose wrinkling ( _adorable,_ thinks Victor), and then he startles, quickly grabbing the glasses and slipping them onto his nose. And, _wow._ Victor didn’t think he had a thing for glasses before now, but... surprise!

College is teaching him a lot about himself.

Now that the man can presumably see him better, he notices that his cheeks go pink as he finally gets a good look at Victor.

“T-Thank you,” he murmurs, averting his gaze.

Victor stands, holding out his hand for the man. He stares at it like it’s a foreign object, but he does accept Victor’s help in standing up anyway.

“No problem. And, uh, it was my fault,” says Victor. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“I-I shouldn’t have been running,” the man rushes to say. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m really not hurt or anything… Are you?”

“N-No.”

“Ah, good…”

Victor realizes, a bit belatedly, that he’s still holding the man’s hand. He quickly lets go, letting his own hand drop awkwardly to his side. The man nervously straightens out his clothes, which is when Victor notes the small duffel bag he has slung over his shoulder; it jostles with the man’s movements.

There’s a few seconds of awkward silence, even though the bustle of the university around them goes on.

“Um…” the man shuffles his feet. “I-I’d better get going. I’m already late for my first class, so…”

Victor startles. “Oh, right. S-Sorry.” He wills his feet to move, but they don’t. Instead, his mouth is the one that keeps moving. “Where are you headed?”

The man blinks, peering up at Victor through his unfairly long eyelashes. “The, uh… The dance studio. Actually, do you know where it is? I got kind of lost, and I don’t know where I put my map…”

Excitedly, Victor nods, responding immediately with, “Of course! I’ll take you there!”

The man’s face lights up. “Really? Thank you so much!” He bows, to Victor’s amusement.

He waves off the thanks nonchalantly, though he’s a bundle of bursting nerves on the inside. “It’s no problem, Mister…?”

“O-Oh, uh, Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Yuuri,” he smiles. “My name is Victor.”

Yuuri gives a small, adorable smile that instantly melts Victor’s heart. “Nice to meet you, Victor.”

They both set off for the dance studio, which is actually in the opposite direction Victor was originally headed.

Victor winds up being twenty minutes late for his meet-up with his friends, but none of them can begrudge him when he finally shows up, a wide grin on his face, and Yuuri’s phone number in hand.

 

* * *

 

Victor is twenty, and he’s in bed with the man of his dreams.

“Fuck… _Fuck_ , Victor,” Yuuri chants, a litany of surprisingly dirty words leaving his kiss-swollen lips. Each curse and moan only drives Victor to thrust harder, deeper, until the headboard of his bed is rattling against the wall.

Yuuri is on his back, hands grasping desperately at the sheets as Victor pounds into him with an almost terrifying single-mindedness. Victor is on his knees, between Yuuri’s thighs; the Japanese man’s legs are hefted over Victor’s shoulders, his toes curling with every thrust.

“Touch me,” begs Yuuri sweetly, and Victor is helpless.

He wraps a hand around Yuuri’s weeping cock, the mere touch ripping a cry from his lips, and begins pumping it in time with his pistoning hips.

“ _Gospodi,_ Yuuri,” Victor pants, a roguish smile on his face. “Look at you. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Yuuri whines, releasing his vice-like grip on the bed sheets and dropping his legs from his shoulders, only to wrap his arms around Victor’s shoulders and pull him down for a kiss. Victor obliges easily, and their lips meet in a filthy mess of tongues and saliva.

It’s funny, Victor thinks absently. He remembers telling Yuuri he wanted their first time together to be gentle, sweet; this came about after the revelation that Yuuri was, in fact, a virgin, and Victor wanted to make it special for him. He thinks Yuuri might’ve taken some offense to that, because right from the moment they started, Yuuri’s done his damnedest to make sure that Victor fucks his brains out.

Yuuri breaks the kiss first, to gaze up at Victor with half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. Yet there’s a tender curve to his lips, a hint of a smile that makes Victor want to burrow into Yuuri and never let him go. And then he opens his mouth again.

“ _Fuck me,_ Victor.”

Those words cause an almost immediate effect; to Victor, it feels like every nerve in his body is about to burst in the best possible way. He fucks into Yuuri harder, leaning back to watch his dick slip in and out of his boyfriend’s body. It’s the sight of it, Yuuri’s pink little hole stretched wide and tight over his thick cock, that finally pushes Victor over the edge.

“ _Zvezda,_ I’m coming,” he warns, voice strangled.

Yuuri clenches tighter around him in response. “ _Yes_ , Victor, fuck, come inside me...!”

“ _Shit,”_ Victor replies. Tossing his head back, he pushes in as far as he can get, his balls pressed up against Yuuri’s ass as he comes. Distantly, Victor hears Yuuri moan his name one last time, and when his orgasm passes, he glances down to see his boyfriend, cock limp and chest covered in his own release.

He leans down and kisses Yuuri again. The younger man greedily accepts this. When they part, they’re both still panting from exertion, but Yuuri still manages to speak, though his voice is raspy from screaming.

“That was incredible,” he whispers. He sends Victor a shy smile, and Victor grins in reply.

“I’m glad.”

Leaning back, Victor slowly pulls out of Yuuri, mindful of the man’s hiss of discomfort as his cock finally slips free. He removes the full condom - taking note of the way Yuuri eyes it, wondering if there’s a kink they can explore in the future - and ties it off, tossing it into the nearby trash can. Then he reaches over to the bedside table, where a small container of wet wipes sits ready. He takes one, and wipes Yuuri clean.

His boyfriend’s eyes are fluttering, and he yawns, indicating that he’s as tired as Victor himself feels. When he’s done with the wipe, Victor tosses it in the same trash can, and then eagerly curls around Yuuri, pulling the smaller man on top of him as he tugs the bed sheets over their bodies. Yuuri rests his head on Victor’s collarbone, and Victor runs his fingers through Yuuri’s sweat-soaked hair.

“Was it…” Yuuri begins, then hesitates. “... Was it good for you?”

Heart impossibly full of love, Victor kisses the tip of Yuuri’s nose. “It was amazing, Yuuri. I think I’m…”

He pauses. Yuuri tilts his head, curious.

“Victor?”

Victor swallows the lump in his throat. Now was as good a time as any to say it, he supposes.

“… I’m seriously in love with you, Yuuri Katsuki.”

He watches as Yuuri’s eyes go wide. For a split second, fear grips his heart; what if he’s said it too early? Granted, they’re five months into their relationship, but Yuuri never said it, either.

But before his thoughts can veer off a hypothetical cliff, Yuuri grabs either side of his face and kisses him with an unmatched fervor. Victor gasps into his mouth, but regrettably has no time to recover and kiss Yuuri back, as his boyfriend lifts his head back up.

Victor blinks at his expression; Yuuri’s eyes are glistening, his cheeks are flushed, and there’s a large, beaming smile threatening to split his face in two.

“I love you too, Victor,” he murmurs. “So, so much.”

Letting out a disbelieving breath, Victor can only stare. Then, slowly, a smile of his own forms, and he laughs.

“You love me?” he asks, almost incredulously.

Yuuri nods shyly.

Victor kisses him again. And then again, and again, peppering Yuuri’s face with soft pecks that make the younger man giggle. When the smooching storm dies down, the two are left to beam at each other. Yuuri’s hand comes up, fingertips brushing against Victor’s lips.

“Have I ever told you your smile is shaped like a heart?” he inquires.

Victor kisses the fingers and shakes his head. “No.”

“I like it,” Yuuri says, suddenly yawning. “‘S cute…”

“ _You’re_ cute,” Victor says, matter-of-factly, delighting in the slight blush and grumble he receives in response.

They lay together in silence after that, and soon, they both drift off to sleep, their night filled with pleasant dreams of each other.

 

* * *

 

Victor is twenty when his grandmother passes away. It was a heart attack. There was nothing to be done.

He reenters his apartment, sullen and soaked from the rain outside. He’s dressed in a fine black suit and tie, and exhaustion is clear in every facet of his person. Heaving a deep sigh, he puts away his umbrella and coat, takes off his shoes, and pads to the bedroom.

Yuuri is on the bed, his laptop open as he works on an assignment for school. Makkachin is in his usual spot, head on Yuuri’s lap, napping contentedly as the man works. Victor lingers in the doorway for a few moments, cherishing this little scene of domesticity.

But then Yuuri glances up, spotting him. Immediately the look on his face morphs from concentration to concern, and he gets up, gently pushing the poodle off him. He walks over to Victor and opens his arms.

Victor falls into him, as easily as breathing.

“How are you feeling?” asks Yuuri.

“Awful,” Victor answers truthfully. His eyes slip closed as Yuuri rubs his back. “She used to tell me she never wanted it to rain during her funeral. She wanted sunshine.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t know half of the people there,” Victor goes on. “I just… I wanted to leave. Is that terrible? It was my own _Babushka’s_ funeral and I didn’t want to be there.”

“It’s not terrible,” Yuuri murmurs. He guides Victor over to the bed, where Makkachin is waiting, watching them both curiously. Yuuri and Victor sit on the edge. “No one likes funerals, Vitya.”

Victor takes a deep breath, clearing his sinuses of the smell of rain and death, replacing them with Yuuri’s soft, sweet scent.

“... My grandfather and I had another argument,” he says.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“... Not really.”

“Okay. How about you take a shower, and then I’ll order us something to eat?”

Victor nods. “Shower with me?”

Yuuri smiles, kissing the corner of Victor’s mouth. There’s no expectation that they’ll have sex - not tonight. He just doesn’t want to let go of Yuuri.

“Of course. I’ll get it started, you take care of those wet clothes.”

Victor reluctantly stands and lets go of Yuuri so he can do just that. His boyfriend smiles at him, and just before he disappears into the bathroom, Victor grabs his wrist and pulls him in for a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers against Yuuri’s lips.

“I love you, too,” Yuuri says back, and kisses Victor once more for good measure, before finally turning and entering the bathroom.

Victor stands there, listening to the shower turn on. Makkachin bumps his face against Victor’s hand, so he can’t help but smile as he gives his dog some much-appreciated attention. Then he sets to work taking off his clothes.

As he does, he thinks of the past few hours. Of how a parade of strangers expressed their condolences to him, of how the ground was muddy and the sky was gray as his grandmother’s body was lowered into her grave. Of how she was buried not in the plot she wanted, but the one Anton paid for. She wanted to be buried next to her son; Anton did not.

He thinks of his last conversation with his grandfather. Of the way he sneered, deriding Victor for getting ‘distracted’. Of the way he so very clearly _hated_ Yuuri. Victor couldn’t understand it. Valentina had always wanted to meet Yuuri, but they’d never gotten around to introducing her to him.

Now, Victor was certain Yuuri would never meet a member of his family, because he would be damned if he let his boyfriend be exposed to such hatred.

Maybe Anton was reacting out of pain. People do odd things when they’re grieving, and Victor knows this better than most. He knows his grandparents loved each other. He just hopes that losing his wife doesn’t damage Anton beyond repair. As complicated as his feelings are about his grandfather, he still wants the man to find peace.

Victor finishes removing his clothes. Setting them aside to dry, he pushes his grandfather from his thoughts, and heads to the bathroom, where Yuuri is waiting for him.

 

* * *

 

Victor is twenty-one, and he might lose Yuuri. All because of a stupid administrative fuck-up.

Yuuri hasn’t stopped crying since the school broke the news to him - his scholarship had been withdrawn, for unknown reasons, and worse yet, his visa was being called into question. He’d have to return to Japan, either willingly, or by force.

Victor’s heart breaks, for several reasons. But the first, most selfishly, is for himself; because Yuuri will have to leave him. There’s always the possibility of a long-distance relationship, but they both know they prefer the closeness of physicality. He’s not sure what it would do to them, not being able to hold each other.

Of course, he has an idea of what to do about this, but he’s not sure how Yuuri will react.

He steps into the living room, where he finds Yuuri, curled up on the sofa with Makkachin pulled in close to his chest.

“Yuuri?” he calls softly.

He glances up, eyes red and puffy, but thankfully, not leaking tears anymore. Still, Victor approaches carefully, sitting next to Yuuri but not quite touching him yet.

“I just called my parents,” Yuuri says. He sounds listless. “They say they’re happy I’m coming home, but I know they’re upset.”

“If they are, it’s not with you, _zvezda,”_ assures Victor. He’s met Yuuri’s parents (albeit only through video chats), and he knows they're some of the sweetest people in the world. They’ll know this isn’t Yuuri’s fault.

“I just…” Yuuri sniffles. “I don’t know what’s going to happen now.” He leans against Victor. “I don’t want to leave…”

“I don’t want you to, either,” he mutters back, wrapping an arm around Yuuri.

“... Are we going to be okay?”

“Of course we are.”

“How can you know that?”

“I don’t. But I do know that I love you, Yuuri. And I’m going to do anything and everything I can to be with you.”

He feels Yuuri tremble in his grasp. Wetness gathers on his shoulder; Yuuri is crying again. Nervously, Victor’s other hand goes to his pocket.

“I want you to know that, Yuuri. And I want you to know that I’ve been thinking about this for a while…”

Yuuri lifts his head, eyebrows drawn together in confusion, even through the tears streaming down his face.

“Victor?”

Victor takes a deep breath. He lets it out, and at the same time, pulls a small velvet box from his pocket. He presents it to Yuuri, whose eyes go round at the sight of it.

Hands shaking, Victor opens the box, revealing a golden ring nestled inside.

“I’m not asking you because you’re leaving,” he says, the words he practiced all last night not coming to him as easily as he would’ve liked. “I mean, that’s why I’m asking _now,_ but I… I _want_ this, Yuuri. I want _you._ For as long as you’ll have me. And if that means leaving with you, so be it.”

Yuuri’s hands go to his mouth. “Victor…!”

“Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor breathes. “Will you marry me?”

“Victor, you… You can’t!” To his dismay, Yuuri shakes his head vehemently. “You can’t do this. Russia is your _home,_ I’m not taking you from it!”

“Yuuri - !”

“You can’t just uproot your entire life for me!”

“You _are_ my life!” Victor shoots back, with such vigor it startles Yuuri into silence. Makkachin looks between the two of them, but doesn’t move or make a sound. “You’re my life, and my love, and I want to stay with you. This is _my_ decision, Yuuri. Please…”

He watches Yuuri desperately. The ring sits in his hand, waiting. After what feels like ages, Yuuri takes a shuddering breath, and wipes at his face with his sleeve. Then, without warning, he lunges at Victor.

Victor yelps, but the noise is swallowed up by Yuuri’s mouth as their lips collide in a kiss. Makkachin, disturbed at Yuuri’s sudden movement, gives a miffed bark and then trots off, though neither of them notice at the time. Victor’s back falls against the seat of the sofa, Yuuri on top of him. He hears a _thud -_ the ring and its box hitting the floor.

Yuuri breaks away, and he’s still crying anyway, so tears fall onto Victor’s face as he stares down at him.

“I can’t believe you,” Yuuri manages to say through his tears. “Of all the stupid, reckless, _romantic_ things…”

Victor blinks. An uneasy smile stretches across his face.

“Is that… a yes…?”

Yuuri sobs out a laugh. “ _Yes.”_

With a joyous cheer, Victor hurriedly scoops the ring off the floor, where it’s fallen out of its box. His heart swells as Yuuri holds out his hand. He slips the gold band onto his finger, and it glistens in the light. It’s the most beautiful thing Victor’s seen yet.

They stay on that couch, kissing and just holding each other, until Makkachin comes back out and reminds them that he needs to be fed.

And for a while, they’re happy.

 

* * *

 

Victor is twenty-one, and he’s in his grandfather’s study for what he thinks ( _hopes)_ will be the last time.

“You can’t be serious.”

Anton’s demeanor is as imposing as ever. He glares at Victor coldly from his desk, as Victor stands his ground before him.

“I am serious,” he replies. “Our plane leaves in a few weeks.”

Anton’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You’d throw your life away for some _har lot ?”_

Reflexively, Victor’s hands clench into fists. But he forces himself to let it go. Anton’s words will mean nothing in a few weeks, when Victor is far away and happy.

“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m moving to Japan with Yuuri, _Dedushka_ , and that’s final.”

“You’ll have nothing,” argues the older man. “What could that tramp possibly give you? You deserve better than this, Victor!”

Victor shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but no. Even if we don’t have as much money, what I have with Yuuri is real. I’m going to give it a chance. I’m just sorry you can’t see it that way, too.”

“You’re a fool,” spits Anton. “Just like your father.”

Victor smiles. “I can only hope.” He bows to his grandfather. “Thank you, _Dedushka,_ for taking care of me these past few years. I hope you take care of yourself, too. I really do.”

He turns to leave.

“Victor!” Anton shouts, slamming his fists on his desk. It almost surprises Victor, but after their confrontation, he’s feeling oddly serene. So he just pauses at the doorway as Anton goes on.

“You’re going to regret this. Mark my words, boy, this isn’t over.”

Victor offers his grandfather a sad smile. He can only pity the man, now. “Yes, _Dedushka,_ it is.”

Victor leaves, ignoring the hateful expression on the old man’s face.

 

* * *

 

Victor is twenty-one, almost twenty-two, and simultaneously terrified and excited.

Their plane leaves in a week. Most of their things have already been sent ahead to Japan, where Yuuri’s parents have confirmed receiving them. Victor’s only taking a few things - everything else he owns was bought for him by Anton, and he’d rather not bring them with him.

Yuuri’s sister has set up a bigger bedroom for the two of them. She’s already claimed Yuuri’s old one as her own, according to her, and judging by the knowing looks both she and Yuuri’s parents have been giving them via Skype, they already know the two are incapable of sleeping without each other now. So it’s for the best.

Part of Victor is still anxious, despite the Katsuki family’s careful preparations. What if they don’t like him in real life? Before, he was Victor, Yuuri’s foreign, rich boyfriend. Now, without Anton’s money behind him, he’s just Victor, Yuuri’s foreign boyfriend here to take up space at their inn.

But then Yuuri kisses the furrow from his brow, and he thinks everything will be alright.

Now there’s just a few more things to take care of. Makkachin’s pet passport is being finalized, he just needs to pick it up, which is what he’s going to do now.

He kisses a sleepy Yuuri goodbye at the door, and gets into his car.

Halfway there, he spots a black van trailing after him, but he thinks nothing off it.

The roads are mostly empty this time of morning.

It’s almost eerie.

Then, suddenly, a second black van appears out of nowhere, slamming into the side of Victor’s car and sending him careening off the road. All Victor can hear is the shattering of glass and the tearing of metal, and all he feels is a sharp burst of pain all over his body.

By the time his car stops rolling, he’s unconscious. He doesn’t see the men get out of the first van, nor does he feel them pry his body from the car.

Everything is just… dark.

 

* * *

 

Victor is twenty-one, almost twenty-two, when he comes into consciousness in an unfamiliar room.

The first thing he realizes is that he’s tied down. He can’t move his legs or arms, no matter how hard he tries. He squints at the harsh light on the ceiling above him. Everything is still foggy… Where is he? What happened?

Dull aches cover most of his body, though he can’t quite recall how he got them. Then he tries moving his head, and he hears a voice.

“Oh, God, he’s awake.”

He swallows, attempting to wet his dry throat, and opens his mouth to speak.

“Where…?”

“Don’t speak, Vitenka,” a voice that sounds suspiciously like Anton says. Indeed, a figure looms over him, blocking the light, and Victor can see the form of his grandfather. He doesn’t look angry, like the last time Victor saw him. Instead, he looks… calm. Pleased, even.

“ _De… Dedushka?_ What…?”

“We’re ready to start,” a third, unfamiliar voice says.

“Sir…” the first voice says, in a worried tone. “We should at least knock him out again.”

Anton waves a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. He’ll forget all about the pain later.”

Alarmed, Victor’s eyes widen. He pulls against his restraints, but to no avail.

“ _Dedushka,_ what’s going on? Where are we?”

“Don’t worry, Vitenka,” Anton says soothingly, but Victor is far from calmed. “Everything is going to be better now. _You’ll_ be better. You’ll see.”

Something in his voice, his expression, so calm and yet so… _excited,_ only scares Victor more.

The restraints rattle as Victor pulls even harder, yet they still do not give.

“Let me out of this!” he shouts.

“Start the procedure,” Anton says, unmoved.

“ _Dedushka,_ please! Let me go! Let - !” He hears something like a computer booting up, and lights start to flash in his periphery. Victor feels desperate tears stream down his face. “ _Please,_ stop this! I need to… I need to see Yuuri! Where is he?”

Anton’s face twists into a sneer.

“Don’t concern yourself with that whelp anymore. You’ll forget all about him in a few moments.”

As soon as the words finish leaving Anton’s mouth, pain flares at his temples, causing Victor to scream.

The last thing he sees before blacking out is his grandfather’s face, triumphant, cold, and horrible, hovering over him.

And then he forgets.

 

* * *

 

Victor is twenty-six when he remembers.

He jolts awake, gasping, as the spots fade from his vision. Nausea roils in his stomach, and his head is pounding. Yet, at the same time, it feels like there’s been a weight pressing down on his head, that he’d never noticed until just now, once it’s been removed and he can _feel_ the difference.

Blinking, he realizes that he’s surrounded. But now it isn’t Anton; it’s Yakov, Chris, and Minako. If he looks a bit further, he can see Emil and Guang-Hong, too,  off to the side by the console.

Oh, that’s right. He’s at the Safehouse. These people… They’re helping him.

He flinches as he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, seeing Yakov, the older man’s faced lined with worry.

“Vitya?” he asks softly. “How are you feeling?”

In response, Victor lunges out of the chair, leans over the side, away from the others, and vomits on the floor.

“That’s normal,” Guang-Hong says hurriedly.

Victor coughs out the last of it, when a handkerchief is pressed into his hands. He glances over to see Minako holding it out towards him. He gratefully accepts it, wiping his mouth clean.

“So. Do you remember now?” she asks him.

Victor swallows, grimacing at the leftover taste of bile. “I remember.”

“Everything?” That was Chris.

_“Everything.”_

Victor stands up from the chair, swaying unsteadily for a moment. Yakov braces an arm around him, but freezes when Victor shoots him a dirty look.

“You let him do that to me,” Victor says, more of an accusation than a question.

Yakov looks like he’s just been punched in the gut, which, honestly, Victor is considering. “I… I’m sorry, Vitya - !”

“Do _not_ call me that,” he snaps. “Not now.”

“... Victor. I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I never realized how twisted Anton had become.”

Victor’s glare becomes harsher, but he’s interrupted from his next scathing remark by Chris, who reaches out to put his hand on his shoulder.

“Victor.” The former Director looks somber. “I know you’re angry, but you two can settle this later. Right now, we have to consider our next move. What are we going to do now?”

“Now...?”

Victor thinks about it, his anger at Yakov temporarily slipping away. What _could_ they do now? Now that Victor remembers everything… He could try and confront his grandfather. He could play the part of the unwitting pawn while the former Dollhouse workers set up an elaborate scheme to trap him.

He even, however briefly, entertains the idea of killing Anton. But the thought is so horrifying tempting that he pushes it away just as quickly.

Then Victor realizes that there’s only one thing wants to do more. Even through the abuse, manipulation, and lies, what Anton’s done to him is the least of his concerns. It’s what he’s doing to Victor’s light, his life and love, his _zvezda,_ that makes Victor bristle with rage.

He looks Chris dead in the eye and speaks with conviction.

“We’re going to save Yuuri.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations bc there's a lot of Russian in this chapter:  
> Otets - Father (more formal than Papa, which I didn't think Dimitri would call Anton, given their history...)  
> Lyubov - Love  
> Solnyshko - Little sun  
> Gospodi - Something like "dear Lord" or "Lord have mercy"? Idk
> 
> Bear in mind I still only speak English, most of this was taken from the Internet, so don't hesitate to correct me if anything's wrong.
> 
> Whew. Things are really going to start picking up from here. Next time, Victor's gonna have a little chat with Georgi...
> 
> Anyway I love Valentina and I hate that I killed her OTL


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //insert mushu gif// I LIVE

* * *

 

Georgi is exhausted.

He supposes it’s his own fault - he could have refused the job, stuck to his old one, and maintained his (relatively) normal schedule. But, Yakov had been a good mentor to him, and it was clear that his request was a dear one to the old man, so Georgi and his soft heart agreed. 

He remembered thinking at the time, ‘It couldn’t be so bad, right?’ He could handle two charges at once. Ludus was a low-risk Active to begin with, and Pragma’s engagement details were uninteresting… Speaking of, he should probably go and do his daily check on him. 

At the thought of Victor, Georgi tries not to grimace. He wishes Yakov at least told him how much trouble the silver-haired Active was going to be. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have agreed to this, soft heart be damned. And besides… it’s hard to not feel a little sorry for the guy, especially in light of what Georgi’s learned recently.

Georgi continues on his way through the sleek hallways of Aelita headquarters, running a hand down his face as he walks. There’s nothing he can do about it. All he can do is his job, and hopefully, both Victor and Ludus would at least remain safe in his care.

Just as he’s about to turn the corner, he spots a head of silver hair stalking towards him. It’s Victor, of course, and the man looks just as he does on any normal day; finely-pressed suit, neat hair, and a placid smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah, Georgi!” Victor waves. 

Georgi blinks, but stops in place so that Victor can walk up to him. They’re alone in the hallway, Georgi’s more strategical side notes, but he immediately dismisses the thought. 

There’s no danger at Aelita.

“How lucky,” his Active goes on. “I was just looking for you.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Well, there’s something I needed to talk to you about…” Suddenly, Victor’s expression falters, and he lowers his voice enough that Georgi has to lean in to hear him better. “Do you remember how you said I should come to you if I needed help?”

Immediately, Georgi is more alert, his body straightening. “Yes? Is something wrong, Victor?”

Selfish as it is, he hopes not. If something is wrong, he’ll have to call it in to the Chairman, and that’s never a pleasant experience.

To his dismay, Victor nods.

“There is.” 

Victor’s eyes meet Georgi’s in a stern gaze. Georgi feels uncertainty gnaw at his gut. 

“I know everything, Georgi.”

Georgi feels his entire body tense. “Wha - ?”

Before he can even finish the word, he feels something prick his neck, and he whirls around, throwing out his arm in a strike. But whoever is behind him is fact, ducking out of the way. He catches a glimpse of long brown hair and painted fingernails.

Minako?

Spots appear in his vision, and soon, it feels like all his blood has been replaced with lead. He drops to his knees, fighting against whatever is it that’s afflicting him, which is when he notices the empty syringe on the ground. 

Victor walks around, picking up the syringe with a disinterested face.

“It isn’t going to hurt him, right?” he can hear Victor ask.

“Not much,” replies the other person - and yes, that is definitely Minako’s voice.

Victor sends her a disapproving look just as Georgi’s back hits the floor, his vision almost entirely hazy.

“What?” Minako asks defensively. “He shot me.”

Georgi doesn’t hear what Victor says in response, for he blacks out, and everything is dark.

 

* * *

 

He awakes to the sight of a gun pointed at his face.

Instinctively, he tenses - or at least, he tries to. Most of his body still feels sluggish and uncooperative. But his vision clears, and despite his pounding headache, he’s able to make out his surroundings.

Aside from the gun, he sees the person wielding it. He’s not surprised to see Minako glaring down at him. 

He is slightly more surprised to see Guang-Hong and Emil standing behind her. The former had been MIA ever since Director Giacometti escaped the Attic, and the latter… Well, no red flags had been raised about him. Still, what was he doing in a room with these traitors?

They’re in a fairly large room, a living room if Georgi had to guess, and he’s sat on a chair with his arms and legs bound with zip ties. It feels a bit redundant, considering he doesn’t think he could move a pinkie in his current state.

Gaze flickering to the side, he sees three more people in the room. There’s Director Giacometti, who has his arms crossed over his torso. Then there’s Victor, who’s watching Georgi carefully, as if he might spring up and attack at any moment. And finally, to Georgi’s shock, there’s Yakov. His old mentor stands a bit closer than the other two, and he looks conflicted.

“Hello, Gosha,” the older man says first, but he doesn’t smile as he says it.

Georgi lets his eyes glance around the room again. “... Hello,” he tries, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. He sees Minako’s grip tighten on her gun. “... Okukawa.”

Her eyes narrow. “Popovich.”

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on…?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” replies Yakov. “But the simplified version of it is this: we’d like your help.”

“My help?” Georgi’s face scrunches up in confusion. “You’ve attacked me, got me tied up, and a gun pointed at my face, and you say you want my  _ help?” _

“I could put a bullet in your leg, if that would convince you,” seethes Minako.

Georgi almost rolls his eyes. “It wasn't anything personal, Okukawa, I was just doing my job.”

“About that...” 

Victor is the one who steps forward now. Georgi’s eyes are stuck to him. What is he doing here? Then he remembers Victor’s words to him before he was attacked.

_ “I know everything, Georgi.” _

Understanding dawns on Georgi as he looks,  _ really looks,  _ at Victor now. There’s clear conviction in his eyes, a determined set to his jaw that was never there before. This is a man who does know, Georgi realizes. 

How much he actually knows is the real question.

“I know about you,” he says quietly, walking until he’s standing next to Minako. “I know about Yakov, too. And my… And Anton.”

Georgi swallows thickly. He looks to Yakov - the look on the older man’s face says everything. “You told him?” he asks incredulously.

“I had no choice, Gosha,” Yakov says. “You don’t know everything yourself. There are other circumstances at play here.”

“Like what?”

Yakov’s face twists, but Christophe steps in and speaks next.

“We’ll get to that. For now, answer a few of our questions, and we will answer yours in turn.”

Georgi tests his restraints. He still can’t move much, so he just sighs.

“I don’t see how I can do much else at the moment.”

The blond nods. “Then, tell me… What were the exact parameters of your assignment to Pragma?”

“... The same as they are in any other case,” he replies, brow furrowed. “I protect him, monitor him. But I was told to report directly to the client instead of the Dollhouse. Otherwise, it was exactly the same.”

“But not really, right?” says Christophe. “For one thing, Pragma was on a long-term engagement. The longest you’ve ever faced.”

Georgi frowns. “That’s… true, but the client was the Chairman. I figured he had some kind of exemption from the normal rules.”

“What were the specifications of the engagement?” Christophe presses.

“He was supposed to play at being the Chairman’s grandson,” answers Georgi. Every eye save for Yakov;s turns sharply on him, and he resists the urge to shrink in on himself. “What?”

“Is that what he told you?” asks Victor. There’s a hard edge to his voice. “That I was just another Active he plucked from the Dollhouse?”

“Well - no… He said you were from the Paris Dollhouse.” Georgi’s confusion grows by the minute as Victor’s expression hardens. “You were chosen because you resembled the Chairman.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters to himself, turning away.

“I thought you knew everything?” Georgi can’t help but ask. 

“I do. It’s you that doesn’t know.” For a moment, Victor looks on him with pity. “He lied to you, Georgi. I’m not from the Paris Dollhouse, and I don’t look like Anton by pure coincidence.”

“Victor is Anton’s flesh and blood grandson,” says Yakov. “He really is Victor Nikiforov, and not because of any programming in his head telling him so.”

“I’m sorry?” Georgi squints. “You can’t be serious. If he’s really the Chairman’s grandson, then why on earth does he need a handler?”

“Because he was, in essence, a victim of the Dollhouse,” says Emil. “Apparently the Chairman didn’t approve of his grandson’s choices and had him… altered.”

Georgi looks at them all very carefully. They all look back, expressions unwavering.

“... That’s a very serious accusation,” he says. He’s not quite sure he believes it, but it certainly seems like they do. “Do you have proof?”

Yakov sighs. “Not much, besides our word. But Gosha, I assure you, this is the truth. I’ve known Anton longer than any man on this earth, and to my shame, I’ve let him do as he pleases, even to his own family.” He shoots a glance at Victor, who very pointedly does not glance back. “But now he’s practically mad with hubris. You know Eros?”

Georgi nods, but he looks dubious. What does he have to do with anything?

“The Active Victor picked out,” he answers. “Okukawa’s charge.”

“His real name is Yuuri Katsuki,” Minako pipes in. “He was Victor’s fiance.”

Georgi blinks. “He… what?”

“He still is,” Victor says, with a grim set to his jaw. “He just doesn’t remember.”

“Anyway,” cuts in Yakov, “he’s taken Eros as his own personal plaything, purely out of spite. That sort of cruelty I can’t permit, no matter how long we’ve been friends.”

“I…” Head overflowing with information, Georgi shakes it, as if that will clear out the clutter and help him focus. Regrettably, it doesn’t work. “I’m sorry, this is all too far-fetched… As far as myself and everyone else is concerned, half the people in this room are wanted criminals by the Dollhouse. And another is a Doll, who for all I know, is being programmed to believe all of this. Why should I believe you?”

“Because you know we are speaking the truth, Gosha,” says Yakov. “You’ve never liked working for the Dollhouse, you’ve told me as much yourself.”

Georgi holds his gaze for a few moments before looking away, his expression growing more unsure. “But… But what sort of man could do that? To his own family? It’s absurd.”

“It is, isn’t it?” asks Minako. “But you’ve been working for the Dollhouse long enough to know exactly what kind of men there are out there. Men like Anton Nikiforov, who just want a quick and easy solution to their problems, their fantasies, with no strings attached. Is it really so far-fetched for you to believe that a company built on lies and manipulation has a man who lies and manipulates his own blood running it?”

She stares him down. Georgi says nothing.

“Please,” says Victor. “You have to believe us. We can’t go on unless you agree to help.”

“... Why?” Georgi frowns. “Why do you need me?”

“To keep Anton off our trail, for one,” answers Christophe. “You’ll tell him that everything is fine, allowing Victor to move freely.”

“Move freely to do what?”

“To save Yuuri,” says Victor. “To get him out of there. That’s all I want.”

Georgi looks at him. He’d be hard-pressed to call Victor a liar, at least based solely on his expression. But he himself shows no sign of consideration.

“And what if he finds out anyway?” he scoffs. “He’s already sent me after you once. How did he find out then?”

“We were careless,” Christophe admits. “Or rather, I was. But not anymore. And Anton thinks he’s gotten the upper hand. With any luck, he’ll have gotten complacent.”

Georgi snorts. “The Chairman is a lot of things, but complacent isn’t one of them. Besides, if he finds out that I helped you, in any capacity, it’ll be my ass in the Attic. Why should I risk myself for a cause I’m not even sure is real?”

“Because,” Yakov steps closer. “If we do this, maybe Yuuri Katsuki won’t be the only one we save.” 

He’s eyeing Georgi intently. Indeed, Georgi goes rigid at this, the mere implication of his former mentor’s words causing a thousand more thoughts to race through his mind. He couldn’t mean…

“You’re thinking of Ludus, aren’t you?” the old man guesses. “You’ve always been fond of your girl. I know you looked into her records without permission. You want to help her, don’t you?”

Still, Georgi clenches his fists, gritting his teeth. “Don’t make promises you can’t guarantee, Yakov.”

“I’d have a better chance of keeping them if you would only agree to help us,” he retorts.

Georgi glowers at all of them. No one says anything; it seems to last for hours. Finally, he lets out a long breath.

“... How are you going to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Rescue Eros. And Ludus. Do you even have a plan?”

He notices how they all share uneasy glances. It’s Christophe who replies.

“We have… something. In our defense, we’ve done well keeping up with all the new developments this situation has thrown our way, and time is of the essence.”

“But you don’t have a plan,” Georgi point out. 

“... Not really, no.”

“And yet you want my help.” Georgi shakes his head. “This is ridiculous. You all know that, right?”

“Well. It’s not like you’ve been jumping to the Dollhouse’s defense this whole time,” murmurs Guang-Hong. “If you don’t like it there, why not help us?”

“Because I’m a rational man who’s not going to just join whatever cause has the saddest backstory,” he snaps. “You could all be lying to me.”

Christophe runs a hand down his face; he looks much older than he is. “... He has a point. I’m not sure I would believe us, either.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” asks Emil. “We can’t just let him go. Not without adjusting his memories, anyway, and I’m sure we’re all pretty uncomfortable with that.”

“...” Victor shuffles his feet. “What about the videos?”

Everyone turns to look at him, but Georgi just raises an eyebrow, confused. 

“What videos?” he asks.

“Are you sure?” asks Christophe, ignoring Georgi for now. “I thought, after you got your memories back, you’d want those to be private…?”

Victor gives a small smile. “They might help convince him that we’re telling the truth. That’s what’s important right now.”

Minako nods. “That makes sense. But still, are you sure?”

“It’s the only option we’ve really got right now,” Victor shrugs. “And Georgi’s right. We really do need a plan. Maybe you guys can think of one while I show him the videos.”

“What videos?” repeats Georgi, more exasperated this time.

“Do what you think is best, Vit-… Victor,” says Yakov. Victor doesn’t look at him. The silver-haired man merely walks out of the room, only to return a few minutes later with a laptop tucked under his arm. He gives a glance to Christophe, who seems to understand whatever that look means. He ushers the others out of the living room, despite Minako and Yakov’s very verbal protests.

Soon, Georgi and Victor are alone. 

Georgi watches with apprehension as Victor moves to sit beside him, opening the laptop as he does.

“... What are you doing?” he asks. 

“Showing you something very personal,” he answers. “And only because it’s the only thing I can think of to convince you that this is real.”

He clicks on a folder to open it, and Georgi can see dozens of video clips, all with odd little names attached. Victor selects one called  _ ‘sleeping beauty’  _ and plays it.

It’s a mere ten videos later that Georgi starts tearing up.

 

* * *

 

“... He was always prone to tears, that man,” mutters Yakov. He and Victor pile into the latter’s car - Yakov let Georgi take his home, where he would pick it up the next morning. 

Victor gives him a sideways glance before starting up the car. He’s still not keen on speaking to the older man, or even looking at him… but there are more important things at stake.

“Yuuri was, too,” he says softly. Yakov’s gaze snaps to him, but Victor keeps his eyes firmly on the road. “He called himself a crybaby, even. Maybe he and Georgi would get along.”

Yakov stares at him for a few seconds. “... So, you trust Georgi, then?”

“I do. You should’ve seen him. It was honestly a little embarrassing, the way he was crying.”

“Well… You and Yuuri have quite the emotional story.”

Victor’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “... Anyway, he believes us. Or at least the part about me and Yuuri. And if he dislikes the Dollhouse as much as you say he does…”

Yakov nods. “He’ll be a useful ally.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. Finally, Victor pulls up to Yakov’s home and waits. He expects the man to get out and walk away without another word - it’s what he would prefer, anyway. But Yakov continues to sit, looking at Victor with that damned concerned look on his face.

“... Vitya.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Anton would’ve done it anyway, even without my help.”

“But you  _ helped anyway,”  _ growls Victor. 

“I know. And I’ll probably spend the rest of my life hating myself for it. You know, it’s the reason Lilia and I divorced.”

Victor is surprised to hear that, but he keeps the scowl on his face nonetheless. It’s not a shock, however, to hear that Yakov’s wife knew about the Dollhouse. Yakov said as much before, after they untied a still-sobbing Georgi and mentioned that she might be willing to help them. She’s a handler, too, according to Yakov. In charge of the Doll called ‘Agape’. 

Victor had thought of the stern, cold-looking woman he sometimes saw with the older man, and… yeah. She looked like handler material.

“Good,” Victor mumbles. He sounds childish, but he doesn’t care. 

Yakov sighs, digging a hand into his pocket. “Anyway. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for it. You might not even speak to me when this is all done, provided we don’t die before then. But, let me do this, at least.”

Victor finally looks over, curious. His eyes go round and big as Yakov pulls a familiar object out of his pocket, holding it out to Victor with a soft smile.

“I meant to give it to you earlier. But then you insisted on going with Okukawa to get Georgi, and, well… Here.”

Hand shaking, Victor reaches out and takes the object. It’s just as he remembered it; small, golden, and glimmering. His engagement ring to Yuuri. Yuuri bought it for him a little after Victor proposed.

_ “So it’s like a promise,”  _ his beloved had said shyly, looking down at his feet as he presented the ring to Victor.  _ “To show that we both love each other…”  _

He’d later been swept up into a romantic kiss by Victor, who could not stop gushing over how adorable his fiance was.

In the present, Victor turns the ring over in his fingers. “... How…”

“I managed to get it off you before Anton could notice,” explains Yakov. “I guess I was just being sentimental, holding onto it for all these years. But you deserve to have it back.”

Victor’s throat feels tight, and his eyes are burning. He encloses the ring in his fist and looks down at his lap.

“... Thank you, Yakov.”

He sees Yakov nod in his periphery. The old man leaves the car and walks to his home without another word.

A little while later, Victor will be in his own apartment, in his own bedroom, lonely and sad but determined. He puts the ring on a silver chain and wears it around his neck. He kisses it before he goes to bed, remembering Yuuri’s words from so long ago.

_ ‘It’s a promise,  _ zvyozdochka’, he thinks, before he falls into a dreamless, restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be honest. Not 100% happy with this chapter. Also, I'm playing fast and loose with my own goddamn outline, so. This might end up longer than the 25 chapters I was planning.
> 
> A lot happened to me these past few weeks, and it was tough to hammer this one out. I had midterms, which is always stressful, and my school USB got corrupted, so that didn't help. 
> 
> And my cat of six or so years finally succumbed to her kidney disease, so we put her down. I didn't touch this story for a few days after that. We were prepared for it, since she'd been sick for a while, and my dad even got a new kitten for us, but I was still pretty upset. 
> 
> Anyway... Yeah. Hopefully with all that chaos behind me now, this story will go back to its more frequent updates. Thanks for reading!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags, they've been updated to reflect this chapter. 
> 
> I also want to thank everyone who gave their condolences about my cat when I last posted. I still miss her, but our new kitten is settling in nicely and she's very different, so it doesn't feel like we've replaced her, you know?
> 
> Anyway. On with the story.
> 
> (I'm sorry in advance. Go to end notes for spoilers if you can't bear the suspense.)

* * *

 

_ “Hey, Victor?”  _

_ Victor looks up to see Georgi standing awkwardly behind him. Their new ally scratches the back of his neck warily, shivering from the cold as they both are out on the upper floor balcony. Victor cocks an eyebrow, encouraging him to go on. _

_ “According to Okukawa, Yuuri has been a Doll for four years now.” _

_ “And?” Victor asks. _

_ “Well… He only has one year left on his contract. Can’t you just… I don’t know… wait?” _

_ Victor grips the railing tightly, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. But he knows that Georgi means well, so he forces himself to relax, breathing a heavy sigh in and out before responding.  _

_ “I don’t want him in there for a minute longer,” he says, voice hard. “Especially not now that my grandfather knows about him.” _

_ He doesn’t hear Georgi do anything behind him, but he speaks again anyway. _

_ “Besides… He might not even let my Yuuri go now. Simply out of spite.” _

_ It’s quiet. _

_ “... I’m sorry this happened to you,” Georgi says at last.  _

_ Victor turns to give him a commiserating smile, like that’s the end of that. Except it isn’t. Georgi cautiously approaches, until he too stands at the railing of the balcony like Victor. _

_ “... You know, being a handler is pretty tedious.” _

_ Victor side-eyes him. “Oh?” _

_ “You follow your charge around, watch their vitals on a big screen in a black van, trying to amuse yourself until the engagement’s done. Then you just… drive them back to the Dollhouse, and watch them turn back into blank slates until the next client comes calling.” Georgi fiddles with his thumbs. “Before, with Ludus, I would normally order take-out and catch up on my soap operas waiting for her.” _

_ Victor quirks a smile at that - he imagines Yakov doing something similar, and then even Minako. He wonders, briefly, what she actually did while he and Yuuri were... _

_ Abruptly, the smile slides off his face. Disgust replaces it.  _

_ Georgi notices. “What’s wrong?” _

_ “... How can I face him again?” Victor whispers, his words almost a sob.  _

_ “... Who…?” _

_ “Yuuri. I took advantage of him.” _

_ Georgi straightens his back, brow furrowed. “You didn’t know. You were altered - !” _

_ “I know that,” he interrupts. “But still… I can remember everything I thought when I was still… you know. And I can’t help but wonder, when we rescue Yuuri… Will he remember everything, too?” _

_ “He’ll understand,” says Georgi emphatically. “I mean, I don’t know him as well as you, but… I don’t think he’ll hold what the Chairman did against you.” _

_ Victor hums listlessly. Yes, that fits. Yuuri was never one for assigning blame - to anyone except himself.  _

_ And maybe that’s what really scares Victor. _

_ “... There’s still something I don’t understand,” he admits. _

_ “What’s that?” Georgi asks. _

_ “Yuuri should’ve gone home. He should’ve been in Japan, far away from my grandfather and with his own family.” Victor swallows heavily. “Why did he come back?” _

_ Georgi stares at him, the seconds stretching into unbearable silence between them. Finally, he replies. _

_ “Maybe that’s something you can ask him when this is all over.” _

_ Victor gives a humorless chuckle, more of a breath than anything else. “Maybe.” _

_ “... Come on,” says Georgi. “It’s getting late. We should both head home for the night.” _

_ Victor gives the scenery beyond the balcony a final sweep.  _

_ A memory comes to him, unbidden, of Yuuri watching the same skyline from their apartment, the lights making the gold flecks in his russet irises stand out all the brighter. He’d admitted that even though he disliked crowds, he preferred living in a big city. He liked having the noise drown out his troubles, the feeling of so many people around him yet not a one of them really caring about who he is. He liked the romanticism of finding one special person in all that mess, someone who  _ did  _ care, and whom he cared about in return. _

_ Victor remembers thinking, not for the first time, that he is completely, wholly in love with this man. _

_ Wordlessly, he pushes off the railing and follows Georgi back inside the Safehouse. _

 

* * *

 

It’s quiet, the next morning.

Victor awakes as he usually does - Makkachin all but pouncing on his bed, demanding food. He feeds his dog, takes a shower, dresses, and sends a quick text to Minako’s burner cell, telling her that he’ll be at the Safehouse soon.

He’s taking the day off from work. With Georgi on their side now, it’ll be easy to lie to Anton and tell him that Victor just wanted a lazy day, that he could use one every once in awhile.

Still, he gets into his car with a vague sense of apprehension. It’s a feeling that hasn’t left him since he woke up. He figures it’s simply anxiety - which is of course to be expected, after everything he’s gone through these past few months. He understands it, but he hates it nonetheless.

They’re just so  _ close.  _ They’re going to settle their plans, and, if all goes well, he’ll have his Yuuri back safe and sound soon.

And after that, well. Victor doesn’t care what happens after that. The Dollhouse, his grandfather, even his new allies… If Yuuri wanted to leave it all behind and go back to Japan, Victor would go with him, with not a trace of hesitation.

The quietness of the morning seems to continue into Victor’s drive. It’s early, so the roads aren’t full, and muted snowfall means that not many pedestrians have decided to take on a morning walk. It almost feels like Victor’s the only person in the world. Instead of embracing the peaceful aspect of this, Victor’s anxiety only grows.

If he drives a little faster than the speed limit allows, well, no one is around to scold him for it.

When he arrives at the Safehouse, it greets him with its now familiar visage, an unassuming home flanked by identical neighbors. The panic gripping Victor’s heart loosens just a bit, at the sight of a place he’s come to associate as truly safe.

Then he walks inside, and is met with a rifle aimed at his chest.

Victor freezes, his hand still on the doorknob. The gunman facing him is dressed head to toe in black body armor, including a helmet that obstructs his face from view. The rifle, too, is black, and it’s what Victor stares at when the gunman jostles it forward, the muzzle poking Victor in his sternum.

“With me,” the gunman orders, his voice unfamiliar. “Follow.”

Victor stares, speechless; he turns his head back towards the door, only to see two more men in armor approaching - there’s a black van parked on the street that  _ definitely  _ wasn’t there when Victor arrived a few moments ago. But the man encroach upon them, rifles of their own gripped securely. The visor of their helmets gleam in the cold morning sun, and Victor knows that running in a bad idea.

So he swallows the lump in his throat, turns back, and follows the first gunman as ordered.

He leads him through the halls of the Safehouse as if he knows them as well as Victor. They’re heading for the living room, Victor realizes, though his mind is currently racing with several other thoughts, not even drowned out through the heavy footsteps of the gunmen surrounding him.

_ What the fuck?  _ being chief among them.

When they finally reach the living room, Victor sees several more men in black body armor and guns. There must be at least eight in the room alone, each one standing stock-still, as if constantly on alert. One of them, however, has his gun trained on the back of a certain person’s head. This person sits on one of the couches, back ramrod straight, though his expression is one of hatred, not fear. It’s Yakov, Victor knows, but his gaze is unwillingly drawn in the direction of Yakov’s glare.

And he sees him. On the couch across from Yakov, Anton Nikiforov sits, and he’s looking at Victor with a distinctly unimpressed expression.

“Ah, Vitenka,” he says, jolting Victor out of his daze. “There you are. Join us, please.”

He waves Victor over, but Victor’s feet remain planted in place. It’s not until Anton rolls his eyes and gestures again that one of the gunmen behind Victor pushes him forward, nearly making him stumble onto his face. Victor shoots a glare back at the man’s impassive, masked face, but slowly makes his way over to where the men sit. After a millisecond of hesitation, he sits beside Yakov. His godfather spares him a glance, his hatred momentarily replaced by the appropriate level of  _ fear,  _ before he goes back to staring at Anton.

Anton sighs.

“What’s going on?” Victor asks evenly. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” replies Anton. “After all, you’re the lot that’s been scheming behind my back.”

Victor’s hands, which rest on his knees, tighten into fists. Anton is  _ here,  _ he’s screaming internally. Which means he knows damn well what’s going on - or at least most of it.

“Who’s been scheming?” he asks, eyes hard. 

Anton shrugs. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Victor tries to unclench his fists, to no avail. At best, his grip loosens marginally, but his knuckles are still white with tension.

“... Where are the others?” he asks lowly.

“Being taken care of,” mutters his grandfather. A small stab of satisfaction washes over Victor as he sees the man’s expression morph to distaste. But then, of course, the horror of what he means washes over him. “To think so many of my own employees would go against me… And  _ you,  _ Yasha.” He turns to Yakov, who doesn’t flinch. Anton, for a moment, looks  _ sad.  _ “I never would have dreamed of such a betrayal by  _ you,  _ of all people.”

Yakov grits his teeth. “You’ve only yourself to blame for this, Anton.”

Anton holds his gaze for several long seconds, then sighs. “You’re right, of course. It was foolish of me to trust anyone but myself with this.”

Victor interrupts, not willing to sit through whatever it is the two older men are working through right now.

“How did you find us?”

Anton’s gaze flickers back to Victor. “Oh, that was because of Popovich.”

Victor feels himself freeze up, but before full-blown disgust can overtake him, Anton waves his hand dismissively.

“He was unaware, of course. But after already betraying my trust once by helping Yakov in this little scheme, unwittingly or not, I thought it best to keep track of his location. I figured he’d lead me to you and your gang of co-conspirators soon enough.”

“And where is he now?” growls Yakov.

“Being prepped for the Attic, along with the rest of the traitors.”

Victor blinks at that. “The Attic?”

“What, did you think I was going to kill them?” Anton scoffs. “Vitenka, I’m not a monster, whatever these people may have told you. A few years in the Attic as punishment, and then I’ll have their memories erased. Everything will go back to how it was before.”

“How can you be so blase about it?” Victor demands. “These are real people you’re messing with! You’re acting like they’re just… playthings!”

Anton gives him a long, bemused look. Suddenly, a look of understanding dawns on him. “Ah. You have your memories back, don’t you?”

Victor glowers, which is answer enough for his grandfather. 

Anton sighs. “Well. Another mistake of mine, I suppose. No matter, it’ll all be fixed soon.”

“If you think I’m  _ willingly  _ going to let you fuck with my head again - !”

“We’ll do a full wipe,” Anton goes on, ignoring his grandson’s outburst. “Modify that temperament of yours. You’ll be perfect this time.”

“I’d rather fucking die,” Victor spits, words made of as much venom as he can muster. In hsi periphery, he sees Yakov’s lips twitch.

Anton rolls his eyes. “I thought you might say that. So I brought along a bit of incentive.”

He waves his hand again, almost smirking at the twin expressions of confusion on Victor and Yakov’s faces. A guard leaves the room, and a few unbearably long moments drag by before he returns. But he’s no longer alone. 

Victor’s eyes widen. He hears Yakov curse a blue streak behind him.

It’s Yuuri.

The guard leads Yuuri along, and he follows like a docile little creature, which makes Victor remember, with a pang of sadness, that that’s not  _ his  _ Yuuri. It’s Eros. His eyes are dull and his smile is small and lifeless - so unlike the man he loves.

Eros comes to a stop next to Anton, who gestures up at him with a bored look.

“You can have him.”

A beat passes, and silence reigns over the room. At least, until Victor’s incredulous whisper of “What?” leaves his lips.

“If you do as I say from here on out,” begins the older man, “and that means going through with the procedure, mind you… I’ll let you have your little lover in return.”

Victor is quiet, so Yakov speaks for him. “What do you mean he’ll ‘have him’? What game are you playing now, Anton?”

Eros, for his part, only looks around the room with all the mindless curiosity someone like him can muster. Victor can’t take his eyes off him.

“No games,” Anton replies. “I mean it. I’ll take him off the roster for active Dolls. Victor can have him as long as he likes. He can even keep his damned ‘feelings’ for the harlot, as long as he stays on at Aelita.”

“You mean he can have him as a Doll,” Yakov says, accusatory, and it’s that sentence that finally tears Victor’s gaze away from Eros.

“Well, I’m not going to let the bitch go,” shrugs Anton. “After all the trouble he’s caused me? But if he’s necessary for my grandson’s cooperation, then so be it.”

Victor tries desperately not to explode with rage at the names Anton so casually tosses out -  _ harlot, bitch,  _ Yuuri is none of these things and Victor wants nothing more than to lunge across the room and beat that truth into his grandfather. 

But he restrains himself, and instead, in a shaky voice, asks, “What is  _ wrong  _ with you?”

Anton scoffs. “I’m not going to debate morality with you, Victor.”

“Because you don’t have any morals to speak of,” hisses Yakov.

He is ignored. “You either take the deal and live happily with the whore,” he points to Eros, who tilts his head curiously, “or you reject it, and I keep him to myself. Indefinitely.”

Victor can’t believe this. He’d known, for weeks now, how awful his grandfather had become, but…

He’s talking about slavery. And he has no disillusions as to what he’ll use Yuuri for.

“I…” Victor swallows harshly. Is it better for them both to live in Anton’s lie? At the very least, they’ll be together. It’s miles better than Yuuri being Anton’s plaything, and Victor going back to being unaware of his existence. But…

He looks at Eros. Eros is looking back at him, smiling placidly. Looking at him with unknowing eyes; he has no idea who Victor is or what they mean to each other. Victor’s heart twists painfully as his mind is made up.

“Let him go,” he says.

Anton raises an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon? I already told you, that isn’t an option.”

“Just -  _ please, Dedushka.  _ Let him go,” he begs, gazing at Anton with beseeching eyes. “Make him forget me completely. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let Yuuri  _ go.” _

He hears Yakov’s softly muttered, “Vitya…” beside him. 

Anton’s visage is stone cold. “... Will you?”

Victor jerks his head down in a nod. “As long as you let Yuuri go first.”

His grandfather gives him another long look. He laces his fingers together over his knees, and then his gaze switches over to Eros. 

“I really don’t understand your infatuation with him,” he says. “You could make him anything you want, Vitenka. He’d be perfect for you.”

“He already was,” Victor says, looking directly into Eros’s eyes. The Doll blinks back at him. 

Anton hums, standing up. “Well. Maybe we can work this out, after all.”

Alarmed, Yakov tries to stand, only for all the guns in the room to turn on him, keeping him in place. He looks at Victor pleadingly. 

“Vitya, you know we can’t trust him. How do you know he’ll keep his word?”

Victor frowns, turning his head to address his godfather. “... He’ll let Yuuri go first. Then, when I know he’s safe, I’ll do the procedure.”

“And how do you know he won’t just take Yuuri back? You know this man, Vitya!  _ I  _ know him! He won’t let him go that easily, not after all this!”

“Yasha,” Anton drawls, reaching into his coat. “Do be quiet.”

Victor sees the result before he can even comprehend the sound - a gunshot rings out, but he sees Yakov first. His head jerks to the side, struck by the bullet; red sprays from the wound as the older man falls back against the sofa. His eyes are still on Victor - his mouth hangs open.

Victor reels back, jumping off the sofa with a shout of terror. The guards aim their guns at him, now. Eros’s eyes are wide, staring at Yakov’s body with a combination of confusion and perhaps horror. Anton merely replaces the gun in his pocket. He sighs sadly at the sight of his old friend.

“Y-You…” Victor, shaking, turns to his grandfather. “W-Why did you…”

“It’s regrettable,” he admits.

“You  _ killed  _ him,” he whispers. 

“I’ll let you forget it, if you wish,” Anton says simply. “Now, how about we leave this dreadful little place?”

Victor shouts - at least, he wants to. He’s hit in the back of the head before the sound can bubble out of his throat. He falls to the ground, vision blurring. He chokes out a swear as he hears his grandfather scold the guard that struck him, telling him to not be so rough.

Everything starts to fade - then he sees a pair of knees on the floor in front of him. Eros leans down on all fours, watching Victor with wide, inquisitive eyes.

His soft voice asking “Are you okay?” is the last thing Victor hears before losing consciousness entirely.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yakov's dead.
> 
> I wanted to kill someone since I thought the story needed some idea of stakes - it's not just your memories getting fucked up, people die in this universe. And also, you know, Anton's a little bit insane. It was going to be Georgi, originally, but with the way the story was going I decided to make it Yakov instead - he's more dear to Victor, in spite of everything that's happened. So... Sorry!
> 
> In, uh, other news... I turned 20 years old yesterday? lmao


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buhhhh it's finals week and i feel like death
> 
> ALSO I can't believe I keep forgetting these things, but first: Over a thousand kudos! That's awesome! I love you guys!
> 
> Aaand, I got fanart! Granted, like, a super long time ago, but like I said, I kept forgetting to mention it, so [HERE IT IS!](http://domokunrainbowkinz.tumblr.com/post/162074087577/youll-take-haruhiko-then-he-sounds-bored)  
> Thanks domokunrainbowkinz!!

* * *

 

When Victor wakes up, it’s a startled, knee-jerk reaction. He shoots upright, a sharp gasp ripping past his lips as every nerve in his body feels like they’ve been pulled taut. 

It takes several seconds for him to calm down, assess his surroundings; he’s lying on a bed, and a very large one at that. It’s a four-poster affair of mahogany and elegant craftsmanship, dressed up with quality sheets and linens, and… it’s immediately recognizable to Victor. He had, after all, spent two years sleeping in this bed, after a horrible accident claimed his parents’ lives and left him with nowhere else to go.

Victor blinks incredulously, then jolts, realizing that it’s not just the bed that’s the same. The maroon walls, golden sconces, well-polished floors and expensive rugs…

He’s in his grandparents’ home.

Breathing hard, it takes every ounce of Victor’s self-control to not vault out of bed and run for the door. 

_ Calm down,  _ he tells himself, though in his head it feels like he’s yelling just to get through the rhythmic pounding coursing through his temples.  _ Remember. Remember. _

The Dollhouse. His grandfather. Chris, Minako, Guang-Hong, Emil. 

Victor’s breath hitches.  _ Yuuri. _

He still remembers everything; nothing’s been taken from him. He could almost  _ scream,  _ deliriously happy for a fraction of a second.

But then, naturally, his high fades, as movement beside him alerts him to the fact that he is not the only person in the room.

In the bed, even.

A soft murmur reaches his ears, and his gaze whips down before the voice itself even registers in his mind. Victor stares, wide-eyed, as a body next to him stirs, blinking achingly familiar brown eyes into full consciousness.

“Mm…” Yuuri looks up at Victor, blearily squinting. He blinks a few times, then seems to realize that the silver-haired man is gawking at him. “Oh. You’re awake.”

Victor is struck speechless. 

Yuuri’s voice is quiet, and his tone… dull. No, not quite dull… It’s more like he’s got the cadence of a child, unassuming and innocent. He doesn’t sound like himse - 

Victor’s heart plummets. 

It’s not Yuuri. 

Eros sits up, rubbing at his eyes with one loosely-curled fist. He’s dressed in sweatpants and loose t-shirt, his hair a fluffy, attractive mess framing his face. When he’s sufficiently rubbed all the sleep from his eyes, he gives Victor a calm smile.

“Good morning.”

Victor can only keep staring, his mind racing for answers, but none are coming up. He tries to think.

_ What’s the last thing I can remember? _

They were at the Safehouse… But then Anton showed up. He offered Victor a deal, and Victor… He did  _ something,  _ asked for Yuuri’s freedom, but then Yakov - …

Again, involuntarily, every muscle in Victor’s body seizes. Oh God.

_ Yakov. _

He lurches forward, all but burying his head in between his legs, hands clutching at his hair in frenzied desperation. He distantly hears Eros make a confused noise, but he can’t spare another thought for the Doll at the moment - not when he remembers what Anton did.

He’d shot Yakov. Victor’s godfather, Anton’s  _ best friend,  _ just… murdered. Quickly, mercilessly, and in cold blood. He sees the spray of red replay in a loop, half of Yakov’s face just  _ disappearing  _ as his body goes slack, and dear God, Anton hadn’t even flinched, Victor’s grandfather was a murderer on top of a manipulative, scheming,  _ rapist  _ piece of shit - 

A hand awkwardly pats the back of Victor’s head, springboarding him back into awareness. He snaps upright again, vision now blurred by tears, to see Eros retract his hand and tilt his head to the left.

“Are you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“I…” Victor grits his teeth. “No. No, I am not fucking  _ okay.” _

Eros blinks. “Oh… Why?”

_ “Why?”  _ Victor almost laughs. Almost. At best, he lets out an incredulous chuckle. “I just witnessed a fucking  _ murder,  _ how about that?”

Eros frowns. “... Murder…?”

Of course he doesn’t know what that is. Victor doubts the Dollhouse deems it suitable for them to know anything beyond basic communication skills and how to breathe. He shakes his head and throws back the covers, swinging his legs over the side of the large bed.

He’s still dressed in his clothes from before, shoes and all. He thanks small mercies and begins to walk towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Eros asks. Victor opts to ignore him - he has bigger priorities right now, and... if he’s being honest, looking at the Doll kind of hurts.

His fingers curl around the doorknob. He gives it an experimental tug, only for it to remain stubbornly in place, locked.

Victor groans. Of course. With his luck, there’s probably some guards posted right outside the doors, too.

He hears the sheets rustle behind him as Eros, presumably, shifts on the bed. 

“We’re supposed to stay here,” he says.

Victor steels his jaw and turns. Eros is sitting on his legs, proper as you please, and for a moment, Victor has the unreasonable thought that he’s suddenly Yuuri now. It’s how Yuuri used to sit, after all, having never been able to break the habit after years of being raised in a traditional Japanese setting.

But he’s still got that glazed-over look to his face, and Victor quickly abandons the notion.

“And who told you that?” he asks instead.

Eros thinks for a moment. “The man,” he replies, shrugging. “He said we have to stay inside this room.”

“Did he tell you why?”

At that, Eros beams. “So we can be our best.”

Victor rolls his eyes. He’s not going to get a halfway decent answer out of Eros, not with him being the way that he is. He turns his attention back to the door and, for lack of anything else to do, and partly to vent his frustration, he bangs his fist against the wood, allowing the door to rattle violently with the force of the impact.

When he turns around again, Eros looks frightened. Something like guilt creeps up on Victor, but instead of comforting the Doll, he resolutely walks across the room to the large window just beside the bed.

He’d snuck out through here, he remembers. It feels like a lifetime ago. His grandmother had scolded him something fierce when she found out about it - they were on the second floor, he could’ve slipped from the drainpipe he’d been shimmying down and snapped his neck.

Victor grits his teeth and finds the window latches. Snapping his neck is the preferable option to  _ this.  _

To his surprise, the window latches aren’t locked, but the brief millisecond of relief he feels at that is quickly squashed when he realizes that there are guards on the ground outside. He can see at least seven, all heavy armor and guns; even if he gets down, he’s not getting past them.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ he whispers harshly. 

“It’s cold,” Eros comments from  _ right beside him,  _ causing Victor to startle.

He didn’t even hear the smaller man move. Victor blinks at Eros as the Doll reaches out and closes the window. Eros looks back at him with a small frown on his face.

“We’re supposed to stay here,” he reminds Victor, and his tone makes him sound like a child trying to reprimand an adult, but Victor is annoyed by it all the same.

“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” he hisses back, walking past Eros to stand by the door again. 

He tries to think of another way out, but - really, the window is the only other way. He groans, rubbing at his forehead with dismay. 

He’s  _ fucked. _

And just as he thinks that, the door swings open.

Victor has to take a step back, or risk being hit by the door as it swings out towards him, and it takes him a moment to realize that there are people on the other side of it. Three, to be precise.

The first he immediately recognizes at his grandfather. Anton looks at Victor with little more than a raised eyebrow and a bemused expression. Victor, once he recovers from his shock, sends as hateful a glare as he can manage back at him.

The second person is a young woman that Victor doesn’t know. She’s shorter than Anton, with short, red, and curly hair framing her pretty face. Wide blue eyes are focused on Victor as her lips, painted with pink lipstick, smile warmly at him. Her arm, confusingly, is linked with Anton’s.

The third person is a man, also shorter than Anton, but around Victor’s age and with a more muscular build. It takes Victor a moment to recognize him, but it’s the guard that stopped him and Guang-Hong at the Attic a few weeks back. The Head of Security… What was his name again? Altin?

“Ah, Vitenka, glad to see you awake,” Anton says, his voice full of false cheer.

Victor glowers at him, fists clenched at his sides. 

“What the fuck is going on?” he asks in as steady a tone as he can.

Anton sighs. “There’s been something of a… delay, in getting you fixed. But don’t worry. Soon enough, you’ll be better. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable.”

“‘Comfortable’?” Victor repeats incredulously. “You think I can get ‘comfortable’ after what you did? You murdered Yakov!”

Anton takes a deep breath, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The redheaded woman looks at him with concern, squeezing his arm tighter.

“And as I said, it was… regrettable. But Yakov had outlived his usefulness. He betrayed me. He didn’t have your best interests at heart, Vitenka. He needed to go.”

“Bullshit!” Victor spits, marching up to his grandfather. The woman startles, and Altin takes a step in front of Anton, shielding him from whatever Victor is about to do - not that Victor himself even knows what that may be. Altin’s smaller yet still intimidating frame blocks Victor from getting right in Anton’s face, but he still speaks with vitriol, eyes boring into his grandfather’s with nothing but hatred and contempt. “You killed him in cold blood! I was going to go  _ with  _ you, you’d  _ won,  _ he was just  _ talking! _ ”

“Ah, well.” At this, Anton  _ smiles.  _ “To tell you the truth, Yakov was right.”

Victor freezes. “What?”

“Like I was really going to let your whore go,” Anton directs this statement at Eros, who’s been standing quietly behind Victor all this time. 

“But you… You said - !”

“I didn’t say anything, boy. You thought I was going to let him go, and I didn’t correct you.” Anton snorts derisively. “Words are nothing but empty promises. It’s action that matters. I thought that by now you would come to understand that.”

“You…” Victor stares at him. Then, all he sees is red. “You  _ fucker!” _

He lunges, intent on wrapping his hands around Anton’s throat and throttling him - but in his rage, he forgets about Altin, who grabs him and twists him around in a simple, practiced maneuver, and pushes him to the ground. He’s pinned, lying on his chest, angrily squirming and trying to escape.

Above him, Anton sighs. “How boorish. You must’ve gotten that from your mother. I did tell Dimitri not to bother, but… It seems poor romantic choices is something you got from him.”

The redheaded woman tuts. “Antosha. Stop antagonizing him. You know I hate it when you two fight.”

He pats her hand absently. “Ah, yes dear. But don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”

“I hope so.” The woman casts Victor a sad glance. “It breaks my heart, seeing our  _ solnyshko  _ like this…”

Victor stops thrashing around uselessly. What?

“He’ll be back to normal, soon,” says Anton. A chime goes off in the room, and he reaches into his jacket to pull out his phone. After a beat, he sighs. “I should take this. Dear, why don’t you stay and keep an eye on Victor while I step out for a bit?”

She nods. “Of course.”

He looks to Altin. “Make sure they stay in here. All of them.”

Altin nods too, face stoic. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Anton glances at Eros, who tilts his head curiously. The older man shakes his head with a dark smile, and without another word, pivots on his heel and leaves the room. Victor hears his footsteps echo down the hall.

The redheaded woman closes the door, then tuts at Altin. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, pull him up!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Altin intones. He releases Victor from his grip and helps him up, steadying him as the Russian sways just a little. 

“Thank you,” she smiles. She walks towards Victor and ushers him back to the bed, where he sits, dumbfounded as he stares at her. 

Who…?

“Who are you?” he blurts. 

She frowns at him. “My, you’re even worse than Anthosha said…” she murmurs. She pats his hands and offers a comforting smile. “It’s alright,  _ solnyshko,  _ you’re going to get the help you need soon.”

“Wh - Why do you keep calling me that?” Victor asks, standing up, much to her consternation. “I don’t know you.”

“You’ve been hurt, Vitenka,” she says slowly. “You’re delusional. But it’s okay. Your grandfather is going to fix this.”

Frustrated, Victor throws his hands up. 

“He isn’t going to fix fucking anything!” he shouts. “He’s the one that ruined everything in the first place!” Stalking away from her, he bumps shoulders with Altin, who levels him with a cool stare.

“If you’re thinking about leaving, it’s not going to happen,” he drawls. “Just sit tight and wait.”

“Like hell,” Victor mutters. 

“Vitenka!” admonishes the woman. “Please, sit down!”

Victor runs his hands through his hair. “God, I can’t believe this.  _ Fucking hell,  _ what’s happening?”

“Listen to your grandmother!” the woman fumes.

Victor pauses. He turns to look at her, disbelieving. “My  _ what?” _

She crosses her arms petulantly. “You asked who I am, that’s it.”

“No.” Victor takes a step back, shaking his head. “You are  _ not  _ my grandmother.”

She groans. “I am, Vitenka. It’s me! Your  _ Babushka.”  _ She looks at him with pleading eyes. “I know you don’t remember me right now, but - !”

“Oh, Christ.” It dawns on Victor, and he looks at her with a new expression; one of horror. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“One of what?” she huffs.

Victor points at Eros, who blinks innocently. “One of the Dolls!” He whirls around, facing Altin, as stone-faced as ever. “Isn’t she?”

Altin says nothing, and his face betrays nothing, save for the slightest downward twitch of his lips. 

It’s answer enough.

“Fuck.  _ Fuck.”  _ Victor begins pacing. “How does he keep getting  _ worse?” _

“Vitenka?” his not-grandmother asks, sounding more and more concerned. “I know, things are confusing right now, but your grandfather promised that he would take care of you. Everything will make sense again by tomorrow.”

He looks at her again, so suddenly that she actually flinches. He narrows his eyes.

“If you’re my grandmother,” he starts, “then how old are you?”

She purses her lips, unimpressed. “It’s rude to ask for a lady’s age, Vitenka.”

“Humor me.”

“... I’m seventy-two,” she rolls her eyes.

“Then why do you look younger than me?”

She blinks. “What?”

“You can’t be older than twenty-five,” Victor seethes. “You’re just another innocent person who got in way over their head and signed up with that fucked-up Dollhouse.”

“Vitenka,” she whispers, voice trembling. She looks frightened, and her gaze fixes on Altin, as if asking for his help. 

A hand grabs Victor’s arm, and he turns to glare at Altin… But the Head of Security is standing a ways away from him, blinking in surprise, just as Victor does now.

It’s Eros that holds Victor’s arm.

“You’re scaring her,” he says softly. His brow is furrowed, and his mouth is stuck in a small, disapproving frown. “That’s not nice.”

Victor breathes in sharply. He holds Eros’s gaze - which is surprisingly stern, for a man supposedly braindead - for about four seconds before he looks away. Eros releases his arm at the same time.

The redheaded woman is still shaking, staring down at her hands, and it’s to her side that Eros goes next. He sits beside her, gently reaching out to her, but she flinches away. Her hands come up to feel her cheeks.

“I-I… I’m seventy-two,” she murmurs.

Eros nods. “You said that.”

“But I don’t… I don’t  _ look…”  _ She looks at Eros, desperate. “How old do you think I am?”

Eros shrugs. “I don’t know. Aren’t you seventy-two?”

Apparently finding that answer useless, she turns to Altin.

Altin just sighs, muttering under his breath. “Now look what you’ve done…”

Victor frowns. “What?”

“You’ve made her think about it,” Altin replies. “Her imprint wasn’t designed well enough to withstand that kind of meta thought. Now she’s having a breakdown, thanks to you.”

Victor looks at the redheaded woman. Eros is still trying to calm her, for whatever reason. He feels a vicious stab of guilt aimed at his heart, but before he can dwell on it or apologize, a phone goes off, startling them all, save for Altin.

“Ah, finally.” The shorter man pulls out a cell phone and holds it to his ear, answering with his name. Victor, Eros, and the redhead all look at him, varying degrees of confusion on their faces, as he listens to the person on the other end speak.

“Alright. It’s ready, then? Good. Turn it on, I’ll give it to them.”

He waits a few moments, then walks over to where Eros and the redhead are sitting. The redhead regards him cautiously, while Eros maintains his blank, childlike mask. 

“Here,” Altin says, holding the phone out towards them. He hits a button, puts it on speaker, and - 

Victor winces as a sharp, high-pitched noise emanates from the phone. It’s like the ringing you hear after an explosion, but magnified by ten. It leaves him feeling distinctly uncomfortable, but as he looks at the Dolls before him, he realizes that they’ve reacted much differently.

Eros and the redhead have slumped onto the bed, apparently unconscious. With a startled yell, Victor rushes forward. They both look like they’ve merely fallen asleep.

“What…?” He looks at Altin, who is pocketing the phone with a nod.

“Remote wipe,” he says, an answer to Victor’s unspoken question. “Guang-Hong had been working on it for a while, but our new technician managed to finish it.”

Victor blinks. “What?” he repeats.

Altin gives him a small smile. “You’re among friends, Victor.”

As if cued, the door opens, and two guards rush in. Victor goes tense, expecting some kind of confrontation, but they only head straight for the unconscious Dolls and gather each one into their arms. They look to Altin, who nods.

“Come on,” he says to Victor. “We need to go before Nikiforov comes back.” He pauses. “... The older one, not you.”

“I-I don’t…” Victor flounders, so Altin pulls him along by his forearm. He follows blindly as Altin and the two guards stride out of the room and through the halls of Anton’s manor. There are no guards to stop them, Victor notices dazedly.

They reach a door that leads them to the side of the manor, and it’s through that they make their exit. A black van sits innocuously in the driveway. They approach it. The van’s door slides open, and inside is - 

“Chris?” Victor says, stunned.

Christophe smiles, going so far as to give a wink as the guards place Eros and the redhead in the van beside him. Altin urges Victor forward, and Christophe extends his hand for him.

Utterly lost, Victor grabs it, letting the Swiss man pull him in.

Altin gives a few more orders to the guards before jumping in himself, and with that, the door slides back, and they hear the engine start. 

“Sorry for the wait,” Christophe says. “But I think we made a decent rescue team, hm?”

Victor stares at him. “...”

“Consider this me repaying you, for rescuing me from the Attic.”

“How are you here?” Victor blurts out. “I thought - my grandfather - ?”

Christophe grins. “Turns out Anton isn’t as feared as he likes to think. There was… something of a revolt, at the Dollhouse.”

“ _ What?” _

“Add in the fact that Altin here apparently works for an international intelligence agency,” he shrugs, gesturing nonchalantly at Altin, who, for some reason, gives Victor a thumbs-up, “and it was fairly easy to pick sides. Help us save you, or get arrested.”

“...” Victor buries his face in his hands. 

“Victor? You alright?” asks Christophe.

“Just… Give me a minute. This has been the longest day of my fucking life.”

“It’s not over yet,” Altin reminds him, albeit not unkindly. “We still need to make it back, then figure out our next move from there.”

Victor uncovers his face. “... Back to where?”

“The only safe place left from your grandfather,” says Christophe. He shares a grim look with Altin, who speaks next.

“We’re going to the Dollhouse.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh... I ended up deviating from my outline a bit here. Nothing major, but I would appreciate it if anyone could point out inconsistencies here or in the future chapters, 'cause I'm doing my best to not get confused, but... you know. I'm but a mere human.
> 
> Anyway, I'm very excited for the next chapter. We get to meet a few more Dolls, Agape makes a reappearance, and Victor has a heart-to-heart with Eros, and just. All sorts of shenanigans. It's gonna be great.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so relatively chill compared to the others that I felt literal weights lift from my shoulders as I wrote it
> 
> let's see how long that lasts

* * *

 

At first glance, the Dollhouse doesn’t seem all that different from the last two times Victor’s been here. But there’s a noticeable change in the air - instead of the calm, almost creepy atmosphere it had projected before, now things felt tense. Hurried.

Unsure.

He adjusts the load in his arms as he walks, careful not to jostle the sleeping Eros too much, though it doesn’t seem like anything will wake him at this point. Beside him, Altin - or as he apparently prefers, Otabek - holds the redheaded woman.

Her callsign was Ludus, according to Christophe. Georgi’s only charge before he’d been assigned to Pragma.

They are immediately greeted upon entering - by Georgi and Minako, no less, and Victor is surprised at how relieved he is to see them both unharmed. They both spare him a smile as well, but Georgi’s is noticeably more strained. Victor wonders, briefly, if he already knows about Yakov.

He doesn’t get to ask, as Georgi’s attention immediately zeroes in on Ludus, his eyes going wide with concern. Otabek gently deposits her into her handler’s care, and without so much as a proper ‘thank you’, Georgi hurries off.

Otabek nods to Christophe, Victor, and Minako in turn before excusing himself. Victor sees him head towards Guang-Hong’s office on the upper level, but before he can wonder what he needs up there, Minako clears her throat, and he turns to see her expectant expression.

Victor blinks. She glances down at Eros’s unconscious form and holds out her arms, and then he understands. Yet his grip tightens instead of loosening. He doesn’t want to let go.

Luckily, Minako seems to get it; she drops her arms. “You wanna carry him to the infirmary for me? I need to talk to Chris.”

Swallowing thickly, Victor nods. “Where, uh… Where is that?”

She points in a certain direction, and Victor sets off. He can hear something like amused chuckling coming from Christophe as he walks away, but he pays it no mind. He finds the infirmary with relative ease - even without Minako’s directions, he can see Emil  through a wall-sized window, white coat and everything, fussing over Ludus as Georgi looks on, obviously nervous.

Victor takes a deep breath and enters the room, cradling Eros closer as he walks through the doorway. Emil immediately looks up upon hearing him arrive, and a beatific smile spreads over the doctor’s face.

“Victor!” he exclaims, albeit tiredly. There are bags under his eyes, Victor notices. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he returns. Eros shifts in his arms, mumbling something under his breath, which redirects Emil’s attention to the Doll.

“Ah, please set him down over here,” he gestures to the empty cot beside the one Ludus is currently on. “I’ll see to him in just a minute.”

Victor does that, even though he’s loathe to let go of Eros, for whatever reason. He stares at the sleeping Doll’s face with a grimace.

He knows he’s not Yuuri. He’s not anybody - he’s just… a template. Victor _knows_ this, but it’s still Yuuri’s face. His voice, his hands, his body. He can’t help but wonder if anything else of Yuuri’s is still in there, no matter how small or hidden away it may be.

He hears Emil speak to Georgi, and when he looks up, he sees the handler visibly deflate with relief. He catches Victor’s eye and freezes up.

Victor frowns. But before he can say anything, Georgi nods to the doctor, excuses himself, and all but flees from the room, giving only his charge one last, fleeting look before disappearing.

Victor stares after him, bewildered. Emil gives a sigh as he walks over to Eros’s cot.

“He’s still processing what happened to Yakov,” he explains.

Victor tenses. “... Ah.”

“Otabek was the one who told us about it,” he continues, voice somber as he begins to examine Eros. “Georgi and Yakov were close, or so I’m told. But, ah… You were, too, weren’t you?”

“... It’s complicated,” Victor says. It’s not a lie. Yakov was his godfather, of course they were close, but after everything that happened, he was furious with the older man. He thought he had every right to be, but now that the man was dead…

“Alright,” Emil nods, drawing him from his thoughts. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“Thank you,” Victor replies, relieved.

A few more moments pass in silence, Victor merely observing as Emil goes over Eros. But Victor finds that he dislikes the quiet, so he speaks up to break it.

“What are you looking for?”

“Oh, just any side effects from the remote wipe. We’ve never done it before, so…” the doctor shrugs. “I don’t see any physical signs of harm, but we won’t know for sure until they both wake up.”

Victor nods, glancing at Ludus. She looks peaceful, much like Eros, sleeping away without a care in the world.

“She was pretending to be my grandmother,” he says, unprompted, and Emil gives him a strange look, before he suddenly seems to understand.

“Oh. Yes.” The doctor looks distinctly uncomfortable. “As it turns out, she had regular engagements with the Chairman using that Imprint… Of course, we didn’t know it was him, he was using an alias. Mr. Lonelyheart, I think.”

“He made a fake version of his dead wife.” Victor breathes in deeply, then exhales; honestly, he’s not even shocked anymore. “Is that normal, around here?”

“Unfortunately,” Emil replies. “Grief is a strange thing, Victor. Guang-Hong knows more about it than me, though.”

Victor only nods. Not wanting to talk about Anton anymore, he changes the subject to the Chinese programmer. “How is he?”

“Oh, he’s pissed,” Emil tosses out casually. At Victor’s surprised look, he offers a sardonic smile. “Apparently, his boyfriend works for the same organization as Otabek. He was keeping an eye on Guang-Hong from the outside. Guang-Hong was… well, shocked, to say the least.”

Victor blinks. “That’s… shitty.”

“I would avoid bringing it up, if you see him.”

Emil steps back, nodding in self-satisfaction. “Alright. Eros looks clear, but again, I won’t know for sure until he and Ludus wake up.”

“When might that be?”

He shrugs. “Seung-Gil said it’d be a half-hour, maybe more. All we can do right now is wait.”

“Seung-Gil?”

“Oh, he’s the new technician we had to bring in, after Guang-Hong was declared a traitor. Wouldn’t you know it, he also works with Otabek.” Emil rubs the back of his neck. “Looks like the government was really closing in on us.”

“Isn’t that good? Considering the situation now, I mean.”

“Yeah.” Emil chuckles. “Timing’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?”

They sit quietly for a beat. Victor looks down at Eros, whose unconscious face is tilted towards him. He really does look like Yuuri like this. Yuuri was always a ‘pretty sleeper’, or so Victor liked to say. Eros is no different. His long eyelashes cast soft shadows over his cheeks, and his lips are parted just so, chest rising and falling with every breath in and out.

“What happens now?” Victor finds himself asking.

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Emil paces away from the cots, looking out the window of his office. “I’m just waiting for Chris or Otabek or anybody to tell me what to do next. I’m not even sure I’m not going to go to prison yet.”

“What?” Victor startles.

“I mean…” Emil quirks a smile. “I did voluntarily work for what’s basically a prostitution ring. Not to mention all the other laws and human rights we’ve violated. Otabek did say he’d try and grant us amnesty for cooperating, but…”

“Still…” Victor frowns. He doesn’t know what to say to that, really. He can’t say he wants Emil and the others to go to prison, not after the way they’ve helped him, but he also knows that, no matter what they’ve done recently, they were still complicit. They knew what the Dollhouse was and they agreed to work for it anyway.

Emil only continues to smile, as if he’s unafraid. “No use worrying about it now.”

“... You’re being awfully calm about it.”

“They’ve got to catch the Chairman first,” he grins. “Then I can start freaking out.”

Victor opens his mouth to reply, but another figure enters the room before he can speak. Or rather, another figure _dashes_ into the room, looking wild and out of breath.

He’s a young man, Victor notices. He has shoulder-length blonde hair and bright green eyes… and the casual clothes that only the Dolls are wearing.

He looks around, frantic, until his eyes land on Eros’s sleeping form, and a wide smile breaks out on his face.

“Eros!” he exclaims, running over to the cot, completely ignoring Emil and Victor, who stare at him incredulously. Or at least Victor is; Emil has a tinge of amusement coloring his surprise.

The blonde comes to a stop by Eros’s side, staring down at the raven-haired Doll with concern. He lifts a hand to gently poke his cheek. Eros barely stirs.

He looks to Emil, pouting. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s just asleep, Agape,” assures Emil calmly. “No need to worry. He’ll wake up soon.”

The concern marring the blonde’s - Agape’s? - face abruptly disappears, and he nods, thoughtful.

“Oh. Good.” He glances to the side, apparently sensing Victor’s awed stare. He frowns at the Russian. “Who are you?”

“Who are _you?”_ Victor blurts out in reply.

“Victor, this is Agape,” interjects Emil. “He’s one of Eros’s friends. Agape, this is Victor. He also cares very much about Eros, so be nice to him, okay?”

Agape’s lower lip juts out, as he eyes Victor warily. He doesn’t seem to believe Emil, but he doesn’t say anything. The Doll merely turns back to Eros and, to Victor’s continued shock, crawls into the cot with him. Emil makes no move to stop him.

Victor looks at Emil. The doctor shrugs.

“They’re very close. Practically brothers, really.”

Victor is still confused, but he also feels an odd sense of relief at Emil’s words.

Brothers, huh?

Agape, despite being a good half a head shorter than Eros, curls protectively around him, still shooting Victor a suspicious look. Victor raises an eyebrow in reply.

“Well,” Emil starts. “Like I said, it’ll be a while before either of them wake up. If you want to hang around, that’s fine, but I have some papers to sort through…”

“No,” Victor shakes his head. He’s already getting fed up with Agape’s almost accusatory glare, as if it’s _his fault_ that Eros isn’t awake yet. “I’ll, um… I’ll go find Chris.” He’s already on his way out the door as he speaks.

Emil nods. “Alright. I’ll let you know when Eros wakes up.”

Victor pauses at the doorway. He glances back at Emil, then at Eros and Agape. He fights off a small smile.

“Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

He finds Christophe on the second floor, leaning against the railing as he observes the bustle of activity below them.

Victor approaches him cautiously, but Christophe notices him anyway and waves him over with a smile.

“How’s Eros?” he asks right away.

“... Still unconscious. Emil thinks he’ll wake up in half an hour or so.”

Christophe hums.

“... I met Agape,” Victor adds.

At that, Christophe’s smile widens. “Oh?”

“He’s… very protective of Eros. Emil said they were like brothers, but…” Victor frowns at the lower level, not looking at anything in particular. “Can they do that? I thought the Dolls weren’t supposed to… you know.”

“They’re not,” replies the former Director. “But what can I say? Eros has always been an outlier.”

Victor sighs. “I’m not sure how my Yuuri would feel about that.”

Christophe chuckles. “It was kind of funny when they started getting attached, really.”

“How so?”

“Agape’s real name is Yuri, too. Yuri Plisetsky. They’re the two Yuri’s.”

Victor glances at him. “That’s funny to you?”

“There’s not a lot in the way of entertainment around here, Victor.”

Well. Victor can’t deny that.

“How old is Agape, anyway? He barely looks fifteen.”

“He’s eighteen, don’t worry. The Dollhouse, despite its many, many flaws, does have a minimum age requirement.”

“Still. What could a boy that young gain from being in a place like this?”

Christophe rests his elbows on the railing, his chin sitting in the palm of one hand. “You’d be surprised. All sorts of people come to this place, for the most tragic reasons. Your Yuuri wanted to forget his dead fiance, Plisetsky wanted us to pay for his grandfather’s medical bills.”

Victor turns sharply at that, wide-eyed and shocked. “What?”

“The poor boy couldn’t afford it when his grandfather first got sick, so he tried coming to the Dollhouse… But he was underage when he first found us,” Christophe frowned, “and we had to turn him away. Lo and behold, a few years later, he was back, all but begging us to take him in, as long as we paid for everything.”

“And…” Victor’s almost afraid to ask. “Did you…?”

“Of course. We had more than enough for it, but…” Christophe sighs. “The man was terminal. He died a year after Plisetsky signed his contract.”

Victor feels incensed. “And you - you didn’t let him go?”

“I wanted to,” Christophe murmurs, and while Victor doesn’t doubt that, he still feels upset. “But the Chairman said, a contract is a contract. We’ll modify his memory so that he’ll think his grandfather died before he came to us.”

He closes his eyes, and for a moment, he looks much, much older than he is. “I don’t know if I’ve said this already, Victor, but your grandfather is a dick.”

Victor almost laughs. “You don’t have to tell me.” After a moment of silence, he asks another question. “Are they all like that, then? Just a bunch of sad people looking for a happy ending?”

“More or less.” Christophe opens his eyes and scans the lower level. He points to a familiar man - Philiautia, Victor’s mind supplies, the Active he and Guang-Hong had bumped into during their earlier infiltration of the Dollhouse. He’s being led around by his handler, the same stylish young woman Victor also remembers, but she looks a tad more frazzled than before.

“Jean-Jacques Leroy,” intones Christophe. “He was a pretty big deal in Canada. Star figure skater, until he tore his ACL and couldn’t compete anymore. He had a downward spiral and finally came to us to help him forget. Apparently he thought he was becoming too much of a burden to his family.”

Christophe’s finger changes direction, now pointing at a dark-skinned man sitting calmly on one of the plush sofas. “Phichit Chulanont. Philia. He saw his sister die in a horrific accident and no one could help him through his grief… except for the Dollhouse.”

He curls his hand back into a fist. “Ludus. Her real name’s Mila Babicheva. Assaulted by a teacher at her university, and no one would believe her. Rumors started to spread, she got depressed, and so she came here.”

Victor’s frown grows deeper and deeper with every story. “Do you help them?” he asks quietly. “Please tell me you at least do that.”

Christophe nods. “We do. Once their contract is up, we do what they asked, give them a sizable sum of money for compensation, and then make them forget they ever set foot in the Dollhouse to begin with.”

“Except when things go wrong,” Victor points out. “Anton told me he had no intention of letting Yuuri go.”

At that, Christophe face hardens, his expression unreadable. “When Anton feels he’s been disrespected, he takes things into his own hands.”

Victor is quiet. There’s more to what Christophe is saying, he’s sure. He just doesn't feel like it’s his place to press.

Luckily, he doesn’t need to.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the Pragma before you.”

Victor takes a breath, then nods. “Sort of? All I know is that something happened to him.”

“His name was Markus Reiter. He wanted to be a model.” Christophe’s voice sounds strained, like it pains him to talk about it. “I actually met him before. At a party; I’d just started working at the Dollhouse. The pay was good, so I went out and celebrated. Then I met him… He’d gotten a new job, too, for some high end magazine… We started talking, and…”

Christophe swallows thickly. “He seemed happy. We fooled around a little, I gave him my number… and then I didn’t see him for four months. Not until he showed up at the Dollhouse, a complete wreck.”

Victor doesn’t dare interrupt, so Christophe keeps going.

“I guess things didn’t work out the way he’d hoped… We were both pretty surprised to see each other, that was for sure. He wanted to forget everything about coming here - to St. Petersburg, that is. Everything except…” Christophe blinks. “Me. He wanted to remember _me,_ I was the last thing he remembered making him smile.”

“Chris…” Victor’s tone is soft with sympathy.

The former Director wipes at his eyes. “He signed a contract. He was a pretty popular Doll, too. But every now and again, I’d… bring him back. No one knew about it except for his handler, my assistant, and few select members of the staff. We would just sit in my office and talk. About anything. Our favorite movies, childhood pets, stories from our school years… Before long, I knew I was in love with him.”

“I was going to ask him to move in with me, once his contract was up. But I fucked up. Our chats started to bleed into his imprints, and he… he had a breakdown, during an engagement.”

Christophe goes quiet for a moment.

“What… What happened?” asks Victor.

“He called the client by my name. He got confused, wanted to know where I was - he pushed the client _away._ They’re not supposed to do that. The client filed a complaint, and that’s.. That’s when Anton found out. He had Markus’s handler, the staff members, and my old assistant either shut away in the Attic or… killed. As for Markus… He said I needed to learn my lesson, and that everyone at the Dollhouse needed to know what would happen if they went behind his back like I did.”

“So he killed Markus in front of all of us,” Christophe says, almost monotone. “No warning, just… ended him, right there.”

Victor’s fists clench tightly by his side. “I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“Still.”

Christophe sighs again, pushing up and off the railing. “I blamed myself for it, for a long time. I still do. If I’d just left Markus alone, maybe he’d still be alive today.”

“Chris…”

He shakes his head. “But I can’t dwell on what could’ve been. My job, right now, is to make sure that what happened to Markus never happens to anyone else. Jean-Jacques, Phichit, Mila, Yuri Plisetsky _and_ Yuuri Katsuki… I need to do for them what I couldn’t do for him. I’m going to get them out of here.”

Victor stares at Christophe, who is looking down at the Dolls with such resolute determination… that he can’t help but smile.

“You will,” he says.

Christophe gives a small, shaky smile in return.

They stand in silence for a few minutes more, neither saying anything as they both watch the people, handlers and Dolls and staff members alike, meander on the floor below. It comes to an end when Minako appears, walking up to them, or more specifically, to Victor.

“Eros is waking up,” she says. “Emil sent me to get you.”

“Alright, thank you,” Victor says to her, then begins to walk back to the infirmary. Minako takes his place beside Christophe; when Victor glances back, he sees the blonde lean against her, his cheek resting on top of her head, and she lets him. With a wordless smile, Victor turns around and continues on his way.

 

* * *

 

Eros is sitting up and blinking sleepily by the time Victor returns to the infirmary, and it seems as though Emil is finishing up his examination. He sees Victor and waves him over.

“There don’t seem to be any lasting side effects,” he says first. “I’m still going to check Ludus when she wakes up, but it looks like the remote wipe was a success.”

Victor nods gratefully. Glancing around, he sees that Ludus is, in fact, still unconscious. As for Agape…

The teenager has fallen asleep, his head pillowed in Eros’s lap. Eros pats his head almost absent-mindedly, and seemingly has no intention of moving him.

Despite knowing better, Victor feels jealous.

Eros looks at him as soon as Emil announces his presence. He smiles at Victor, and it’s - it’s odd. It’s not the dull, placid smile he gave Victor before. It’s one of familiarity, it’s… warm.

After Emil finishes talking, Victor takes a seat beside Eros, and the doctor wanders off, presumably to return to his paperwork. As if waiting for him to go out of earshot, Eros finally speaks up.

“Hello,” he greets softly.

“Hey,” Victor says back, sparing a smile of his own. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Dr. Nekola says I might have a headache so I shouldn’t leave bed for a while.”

“I don’t think you could anyway, with Agape draped over you like that.”

Eros, oddly, smiles proudly. “He’s my friend.”

Victor’s eyes soften. “I’ve heard.”

Eros blinks at him. “Do you want to be friends?” he asks, after a beat.

Victor jolts, reacting as though Eros has just punched him in the throat. “I - what?”

“You look lonely,” says Eros. “That’s not good. When you’re lonely, you’re sad. You can’t be your best if you’re sad.” He holds out his hand, the one not tangled in Agape’s hair, towards Victor.

Victor stares at it. “You…” Desperate, he looks at Eros, searching his face for - for _anything,_ any further sign of familiarity, but he can’t. “Do you know me?” he asks, at last.

Eros tilts his head, his hand retracting back to his side. “I don’t think so.”

Victor lets out a breath. “Do you see _anything_ when you look at me?”

Eros frowns, like Victor’s just asked a silly question. “I see a person.”

“Just that?” Victor sounds heartbroken, though he expected such an answer. “I’m just… a person, to you?”

“Yes?”

Victor runs a hand down his face. His eyes are burning and his throat feels constricted.

Eros’s dismayed voice reaches his ears. “Do you - do you not want to be friends, then?”

Hiccuping a laugh, Victor raises his face. Does he want to be friends?

_I’d like to go back to the way things were._

_I’d like for you to remember me._

_I’d like it if neither of us ever set foot in this place ever again._

_I’d like it if you were my Yuuri._

He smiles as he speaks, ignoring the way his vision is blurring and how it hurts his chest to breathe.

“Yes, I’d like to be friends.”

Eros blinks again, fixated on Victor’s expression. He raises his hand again - but instead of reaching out for Victor’s hand, he reaches for Victor’s face, soft fingertips brushing against the taller man’s lips with a happy look, like a child presented with sweets.

“It’s a heart,” he declares.

Victor stares. Then, without another word, he stands and wraps his arms around Eros, pulling the surprised Doll into his chest. Eros makes a muffled noise of confusion, but leans against Victor anyway, which only makes him hug even tighter.

He doesn’t even care that the action awakes Agape, who all but hisses at Victor, demanding to know why he’s touching Eros - and why Eros is smiling, apparently enjoying it.

It’s the happiest Victor’s been in months, and he wants to hold on to this feeling for as long as he possibly can.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')
> 
> (yes Markus Reiter is supposed to be Chris's Mystery Man)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got carried away don't look at me

* * *

 

Most of the dust has settled when Christophe ventures back down to the main floor, not too long after rescuing Victor. Minako is by his side, his shadow by this point, but he’s comforted by her presence all the same. Together, they walk towards the lounge area, where Victor, Eros, and Agape are all sitting.

Christophe smiles widely at the three of them; what a sight they make.

Eros sits in between Victor and Agape, a picture book held open on his lap. He’s pointing to the photos and looking to Victor after each page, as if to gauge the silver-haired man’s reactions. Victor seems to be humoring the Doll, smiling and nodding as Eros provides an explanation as to what’s going on in the story. Agape, meanwhile, is just as enraptured in the book as Eros, but Christophe doesn’t miss the way he glances at Victor every so often, still unsure as to why he’s even here.

They look like a family.

He doesn’t want to intrude on the moment, but there’s still much to be done, and so Christophe continues walking until he reaches the trio.

“Are we all having fun here?” he asks, attracting their attention. Eros beams and nods, Agape curls in closer to Eros, and Victor sighs. Christophe sees Minako’s lips twitch up into a half-smile at Victor’s reaction. “Well, we need to borrow Victor for a while. Is that alright?”

Eros frowns, looking at Victor sadly. “Do you have to?”

Victor, after a moment’s hesitation, puts his hand on Eros’s knee in what Christophe assumes is a comforting gesture. “I’ll come back,” he promises, though his voice is strained.

This seems to satisfy Eros, though, and so he nods, allowing Victor to stand up. Agape is visibly pleased, sending Victor what almost looks like a triumphant smile before Eros returns their attention to the book. Victor gives them both one last, lingering stare before turning around and joining Christophe and Minako, and the three of them set off for Guang-Hong’s lab.

“So?” prompts Victor. “What’s going on?”

“We’re consolidating,” says Minako. “Otabek has a plan, and Guang-Hong said he needed to tell you something.”

Victor hums, and they reach the lab without further conversation. Otabek and Guang-Hong are already there, along with Georgi, and two men Victor doesn’t know. One is Asian, with a bored expression that almost mirrors Otabek’s stoic countenance, and the other is a tanned, slim man with shoulder-length brown hair pulled into a ponytail.

Otabek acknowledges their arrival with a nod. “We’re all here. Good.” He looks at Victor and gestures to the two strangers. “Victor, these two are my colleagues. Seung Gil Lee and Leo de la Iglesia.”

Victor waves to them, and they respond with their own greetings. For Seung Gil, it’s a single downward jerk of his head. Leo at least spares Victor a small smile.

“Now, this is what’s happening.” Otabek clasps his hands behind his back, looking every bit the part of an intimidating government agent. “We have a warrant out for Anton Nikiforov’s arrest. Combined with what we’ve already gathered, and the testimony of everyone here, there’s more than enough evidence to do so.”

“Great,” says Victor. “So do it already.”

“There’s a problem,” says Leo, wincing apologetically. “A little while after you escaped Anton’s custody with Eros and Ludus, he fled his manor. We have no idea where he is now.”

Victor clenches his fist. “ _What.”_

“We _are_ looking for him,” assures Otabek. “That’s our top priority. But, for right now,  what I think we should focus our attention on are the remaining Actives in the facility.”

“What do you mean?” asks Minako.

“You’re going to return their memories, obviously,” Seung Gil interjects, sounding cool and distant. “Their contracts are terminated. But we’d like your help in convincing them to testify against the Dollhouse when this case goes to trial.”

“That… might not be easy,” Georgi says. “They’ll be disoriented. And probably unhappy, assuming we don’t fulfill our part of the bargain and erase the traumas they came here for.”

“You can still do that,” says Leo. “They just need to confirm their contract. They won’t be prosecuted or held responsible for whatever they might’ve done as a Doll.”

At the mention of prosecution, Victor remembers his earlier conversation with Emil. “What about the staff?” he blurts out. “What’ll happen to them?”

Otabek gives him a long, calculating look before answering. “If they cooperate, we can work out a deal. But unlike the Actives, they chose to continue working for the Dollhouse, unmodified and uninfluenced.”

“We can get them a reduced sentence, or even have them help us target other Dollhouses,” Leo says quickly, shooting a glance at Guang-Hong. The programmer is pointedly not looking his way, Victor notices.

“But they will have to face some form of punishment,” finishes Seung Gil, leveling a stoic glare at Christophe. “No matter their intentions towards the end.”

Again, Christophe only shrugs. “I understand. I’m sure we all do. More than a few of us have had misgivings about working here.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” nods Otabek. “So, with that in mind… We’d like to start the process of releasing the Actives from their contracts. Guang-Hong already agreed to start the procedures, and Seung Gil will help. Leo and I will continue the search for Anton Nikiforov. Giacometti, my superiors would like to speak with you.”

Christophe sighs dramatically. “But of course.”

“Good. Victor, we’d also like your help looking for your grandfather.”

Victor nods immediately. “Yes.”

He smiles at him before turning away. “Okukawa, Popovich, please relay what we’ve talked about here to the other handlers - but only the ones you trust. We’re going to detain everyone else until we’re certain of their loyalties.”

Both handlers nod their agreement.

“Alright. Dismissed, everyone.”

The group parts and scatters - Georgi and Minako leave the room, Christophe goes with Otabek, presumably to call the latter’s superiors, which leaves Victor with Guang-Hong, Seung Gil, and Leo.

Victor walks up to the Chinese programmer. “Hey. How are you?” he asks gently.

He gives a shaky sigh in response. “I’ve been better. Much better. I actually feel very shitty right now.”

Victor snorts. “I think most of us do. Minako said you needed to tell me something?”

“Ah, right…” Guang-Hong’s expression grows contrite. “So… I checked and double-checked our Archives, and… I’m sorry, Victor, I don’t know how to say this…”

“Say what?” Victor frowns, anxiety suddenly gnawing at his gut.

It’s Seung Gil who answers. “Yuuri Katsuki’s original personality wedge is missing from the Archives.”

Victor freezes. He looks at the two of them; Guang-Hong looks miserable, and Seung Gil… doesn’t, but to his credit, there’s something like pity in his gaze as he looks back at Victor.

“... What?” he whispers.

“It happened a little while after we freed Chris from the Attic,” explains Guang-Hong, even as he shifts nervously. Leo steps a little closer, but Guang-Hong shifts away from him instinctively. “They brought Seung Gil in, and…”

He leaves it for Seung Gil to finish. “My first assignment was to locate Katsuki’s data and transfer it all to a single wedge. Then I was ordered to delete the data and give the wedge over to Anton. There’s no trace of Yuuri Katsuki left anywhere in the Dollhouse’s servers.”

Victor breathes out harshly. “So you’re saying… The only way to get Yuuri back is…”

“To get the wedge back from Anton,” confirms Seung Gil. “Assuming he hasn’t already destroyed it.”

Guang-Hong and Leo both give him a sharp glare, but he seems unconcerned.

“If it helps, I don’t think he has,” he says instead. “He wouldn’t have wanted the only physical copy if he wanted Katsuki’s personality gone for good. He needs it for something, still.”

“Leverage, most likely,” says Leo. “To get Victor to cooperate?”

Victor shakes his head, though the rest of him is shaking as well, with vibrant, barely-contained anger. “He told me he’d never let Yuuri go.”

“Then maybe he’s just being cruel,” murmurs Guang-Hong. “Keeping Yuuri’s original data all to himself while the man remains a blank slate. Cruelty seems to be your grandfather’s M.O., Victor.”

Victor’s face is grim. “Yeah…”

“In any case, what are you going to do?” Seung Gil asks. “If you can’t restore Katsuki’s original self? From what Guang-Hong has told me, getting him back is the entire point of your little quest. If that’s lost, what will you do with Eros?”

Victor looks at him. Seung Gil stares back. Victor realizes with a jolt that he’s not asking out of malice - he’s genuinely curious. He swallows thickly and replies.

“I… I don’t know for sure, but… Original personality or not, my… My Yuuri is still in there, somewhere. He knows who I am, or at least… Part of him remembers me.”

Seung Gil makes a face. “Even if that’s true… It’ll never be the same. Assuming you leave him in _tabula rasa,_ he’ll be no better than a child. You can’t resume your relationship built on that.”

“No,” Victor agrees. “And I hope it doesn’t come to that, I really do. I want Yuuri back, more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but…” Victor feels the conviction rise to his voice, even as his heart still feels sick at the very idea of what he’s about to say. “If we can’t get him back… I’m not abandoning him. I could never. Even if he never remembers completely, I can’t let him go. Not after I’ve just found him again.”

It’s quiet, following his declaration. Seung Gil seems to be thinking to himself. Leo watches with a combination of awe and pity. Guang-Hong, though, smiles, reaching forwards to hold Victor’s hands in his own.

“Yuuri is really lucky to have you,” he says. “And I really hope you get him back.”

Victor’s voice wavers as he says, “Thank you,” and Guang-Hong lets go of his hands.

“You can go back to him, if you want,” the programmer continues. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. We’ll send for you if something comes up.”

Nodding, Victor quickly turns on his heel and walks out of the lab.

 

* * *

 

Victor returns the the lounge area, where Eros and Agape are still reading, but there’s a new figure with them - and he knows her. He hasn’t seen her since his accident and Yakov spent a few months in a depressed slump, but her striking visage hasn’t changed a bit since then.

Lilia Baranovskaya.

She sees him as he slows his approach, and immediately gets up to meet him halfway. Neither Doll notice her departure, making Victor wonder if they even knew she was there in the first place.

“Victor,” she greets stiffly. Lilia had always frightened Victor as a child, but seeing her now, all Victor feels is sad.

“Lilia. It’s… good to see you again.”

“You don’t have to lie,” she rolls her eyes.

“I’m not. I…” Victor’s face twists. “I guess you know about what happened to Yakov?”

She holds his gaze, and then she sighs. For the first time, Victor sees her proud contenance waver. She looks exhausted.

“I do,” she answers.

“I’m sorry,” he offers awkwardly. If she were Georgi, he might’ve offered a hug. But Lilia has never been a hug person, and he doubts she ever will be. Besides, from what Yakov had implied, he and Lilia rarely ever spoke to each other after their divorce.

She clicks her tongue. “You don’t have to be. Yakov was a foolish man, and I told him as much when I left him.”

“He tried to make things right,” Victor says, surprised at his own defense of the man. “He was trying to help me. And Yuuri. And he died because of it.”

Lilia raises an eyebrow at him. “Have you forgiven him, then?”

… Slowly, Victor shakes his head. “Is that terrible?” he asks. “I know he was trying to fix his mistakes, and I know he still cared about me, but I’m still furious with him.”

Lilia reaches out, touching Victor’s shoulder with her hand. She still paints her nails a soft pink, Victor notes absently.

“It isn’t terrible. I’m still mad at him, too. He loved you like you were his own son, and he still didn’t stand up to Anton when he needed to. Not until it was too late. I’m still angry, but I miss him, too.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Victor says hollowly. Georgi is the only one who seems to miss Yakov with no reservations, and he finds himself envying the other man.

“It doesn’t,” Lilia agrees. “Most things in this world rarely do. We can hate him and miss him all we want, but he’s gone. Maybe one day we’ll forgive him, but he’ll still be gone.”

Victor sighs, but he gives her a small smile as he does. “You’re as depressing as ever.”

She whaps him on the shoulder. “And you’re still hopeless.”

Before Victor can retort, she pulls him in, and he finds himself inhaling expensive perfume as she tucks him into an embrace.

“I’m glad you’re back to normal, Vitya,” she whispers to him, and abruptly, she lets him go.

Victor stares at her. All Lilia does in response is fix her blouse and nod. Then she stalks off, leaving him with a million questions that he already knows probably won’t be answered.

It’s then that Eros spots him. With a bright smile, the Doll waves him over. It clearly displeases Agape, who pouts at Victor as he approaches.

Victor reclaims his spot beside Eros, who, after Victor settles down, leans against him, his head tucked under Victor’s chin. Victor is struck with an overwhelming sense of both longing and grief - how many times had he and Yuuri cuddled in this exact same way? With Makkachin curled up next to them, instead of an ornery teenager that kept shooting Victor distrustful glares?

Still, it makes Victor’s conviction grow. What he said to Seung Gil earlier, it wasn’t just words. It was a promise. He sees Eros’s smile and thinks, maybe, there’s a hint of Yuuri there.

If he has no other choice, he’ll cultivate that smile until it’s the one he knows by heart.

 

 

* * *

 

It’s been twelve hours since the coup, yet Minako doesn’t feel tired in the slightest. She sits in the cafeteria with a cup of black coffee warming her fingers.

Most of the others are either working to help Otabek and Christophe, sleeping, or have been detained in one of the sleeping rooms. A reasonable number of handlers and staff have sided with them, and she’s glad for that. She’s even happier that the ones she thought she could trust - Lilia, Isabella, Celestino - were also counted among their allies.

She glances around the facility. It’s odd; the place had been her home for years, but now, she can’t wait for this all to be over and done with, so that she never has to set foot in here again.

If she ever does, it’ll be to burn the place down.

Footsteps bring her out of her reverie and to attention. She sees Victor walking towards her, looking tired but otherwise fine, and he graciously accepts when she nods to the chair across from her, inviting him to join her.

She slides him the remains of her cup, and he takes a grateful swig, though he winces at the strength of it.

“Is Eros asleep?” she asks.

“Not yet,” he replies. “He wanted to take a shower first. He asked me to _join him.”_ Victor runs a hand down his face. “The last time that mouth asked me that question, we ended up staying in the shower until the water ran cold.”

She holds back a grin. “Too much information, Victor.”

“Sorry,” he says, obviously not sorry at all. “But now… He just asked it like it was a normal thing people do.”

“They don’t really get the concept of sex when they’re in _tabula rasa,”_ she says. “Don’t take it personally.”

 _“I’m not,”_ he huffs. “I just… It’s so bizarre. I _know_ he’s not Yuuri, but sometimes he’ll say or do something and I…”

He pauses, seemingly lost for words. Then he sighs, defeated. Minako gives him a sympathetic look, but she’s not quite sure what to say, either.

Eventually, after a few minutes spent in silence, she opts for, “I watched some of his dancing, you know.”

Victor looks at her, perplexed, so she elaborates.

“Your videos. You took a lot of videos of him just… dancing.”

“Oh.” Victor’s expression shifts, the curve of his mouth tilting up in a sad smile. “I did.”

“He was good. He could’ve been beautiful.”

“He already was,” Victor says softly.

Minako grins at him, resting her chin in her hands. “I wonder what it’s like, being that in love with someone.”

To her surprise, he raises an eyebrow. “You don’t already know?”

She blinks, then chuckles. “For a long time, I didn't. How old do you think I am, Victor?”

He looks at her and frowns. “I don’t know…? Twenty-eight?”

“I’m thirty-nine,” she answers, quietly amused at the way he balks. “Not quite an old maid, but old enough that I should know what love feels like, right?” Minako shakes her head. “Not until recently.”

Victor leans forward, elbows on the table, cup of coffee long forgotten. “Can I ask what happened?”

She hums. “It’s actually kind of ironic. I used to do ballet, too.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm. And I was _good,_ Victor. I was on my way to the top, nothing else mattered to me except dancing. And then I fell.”

Victor is quiet.

“I’m sure Yuuri must’ve told you; a dancer’s worst nightmare is one bad fall. One bad fall and you can never dance again, at least not the way you’re supposed to. I lost everything. I couldn’t even go home, I was stuck in St. Petersburg. And so I did what lost, desperate people in St. Petersburg do.”

Comprehension dawns on the Russian’s face. “You - ?”

She nods. “I became a Doll. My callsign was Agape.”

She remembers how the Director at the time gushed about the names. ‘Spiritual love,’ she’d called it. Minako also remembers not caring. She just wanted to sink into oblivion and let the Dollhouse do what they desired while her consciousness slept.

“When my contract ended, I still didn’t have anywhere to go. Sure, I could go back to Japan, but what was there? I had no family, and I still couldn’t dance. So I stayed in Russia, and the Dollhouse offered me a new job - to be a handler.”

“It was a few years after that when the old Director retired and they brought in Chris.” She quirks a smile remembering the first time she saw him. “He seemed too soft. The first thing he wanted to do was give the Dolls better _clothes._ I thought he wouldn’t last a month.”

“But then he did,” says Victor.

“But then he did,” she echoes. “And I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong.”

“... If you were in my position,” Victor starts. “And Chris was in Yuuri’s… What would you do?”

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… If you could never get the _real_ Chris back, the Chris you loved and the one who loves you… You would stay close to him, right? Even if he never remembered you, if he never fell in love with you again...?”

Minako ponders this. Exhaling softly, she smiles at Victor again. “I think I would. But I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Victor’s brow furrows.

“I mean, look at Eros. He’s supposed to be just a blank slate. He doesn’t feel or think with complexity. But he makes friends, he feels empathy. Haruhiko and Masaru fell in love with you - honest, genuine love - and those feelings remained when he was supposed to forget. And _you._ Even when you were under Anton’s thumb, something about Eros drew you to him.” She pats Victor’s hands. “The Dollhouse can try its hardest, but it just can’t take away instinct. And if it’s your and Yuuri's instinct to fall in love with each other, then you're going to do it, no matter how much we mess with your heads.”

Victor looks down at their hands on the table, but Minako can see wetness glistening in his eyes as he considers her words.

“... Thank you,” he murmurs at last.

She laughs, and ‘you’re welcome’ is on the tip of her tongue when Agape strolls up to them.

Both Victor and Minako startle, heads whipping to the look at the Doll, who is staring down at Victor with narrowed eyes.

“Agape?” Victor blinks. “I thought you were going to bed. Where’s Eros?”

Agape frowns. “He wasn’t in bed. He said he’d meet me in our room when he was done.”

Minako straightens her back. “When he was done with what?”

Agape turns to her and looks bewildered. “His treatment.”

Immediately, Minako feels her blood run cold - a cursory glance at Victor affirms that he’s feeling the same.

“Agape,” she says in a low tone. “Who told Eros he needed a treatment?”

“O-One of the staff people,” Agape stammers. “He said he’d bring him right back when he was done.”

“That can’t be right,” she hears Victor mutter. “They’re not - his wedge is gone. He can’t get a treatment yet.”

“He’s not,” Minako grits her teeth. She stands up, and Victor follows her lead. “Come on, we need to find Otabek.”

He nods, and they both head for Guang-Hong’s lab as briskly as they can, unheeding of the way Agape follows them, his features now twisted with worry.

Luckily, Otabek is there, along with Christophe and Guang-Hong, and they quickly explain the situation.

Guang-Hong pulls up the security camera feed from the showers, where a scene unfolds before them.

Eros has just redressed, his hair still damp from the water, with Agape standing close by. They’re smiling and chatting, though the camera doesn’t allow them to hear about what, when a staff member strolls up to them.

Minako doesn’t remember his name, but she does remember that he’d agreed easily to the coup. Perhaps a little too easily, she thinks in hindsight.

Eros nods, says something to Agape, then walks off with the man out of frame.

Guang-Hong searches frantically throughout the rest of the security footage, switching from the showers to every other feed available, and when he spots Eros again, everyone in the room goes deathly still.

They see Eros in the parking garage, being helped into a van by the staff member. The Doll looks uncertain, he’s even hesitating before he’s pushed unceremoniously into the vehicle, but it’s not that which makes the room so silent.

It’s the man leaning casually against the van as the struggling Eros is pushed inside - older, well-dressed, _familiar_. He looks up, gaze locking with the camera, and smirks just before the feed cuts to static.

Minako distantly hears Otabek start to bark orders, and everyone breaks into a flurry of chaos. But she remains frozen in place. She turns her head slowly towards Victor, and sees him unmoving as well, his face stricken with grief. She’s never seen someone so scared, so angry, and so defeated all at once. It’s Victor’s face that makes the reality of what’s happened sink in, and Minako wants to _scream._

Anton has Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> sorry
> 
> (ps i meant to put in a bit explaining that Minako opted to keep her memories of being a Doll when she took the handler job, but it didn't really fit the flow of the conversation so just in case anyone was confused :P )


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's been a while. ahahahahaha.
> 
> (sorry) 
> 
> Q~Q

* * *

 

To say things are hectic would be an understatement.

Otabek’s put everyone on high alert; several of his men have arrived at the facility, double-vetting everyone present, from the handlers to the staff to even Guang-Hong himself. 

The programmer understands  _ why,  _ of course, but he can’t help but be annoyed anyway when he’s mandated to answer some stranger’s questions about his true intentions. He thinks his intentions should be perfectly clear by this point, but there’s nothing he can really do besides suffer quietly until it’s done.

And besides, the longer they keep him from his lab, the longer it’s going to take before he can help look for Yuuri.

Guang-Hong’s not sure when the Doll stopped being ‘Eros’ and turned into ‘Yuuri’ for him. It was probably Victor’s fault. Saving Yuuri was the only thing he wanted to do, and his fervent dedication had seeped into Guang-Hong as well. Part of him also still felt guilty - though he wasn’t the one who made Yuuri come to the Dollhouse, he was the one who turned him into Eros in the first place. He’s sure Victor doesn’t hold it against him, but…

Guang-Hong sighs impatiently as one of Otabek’s agents continues to ask stupid questions, and to his credit, he  _ does  _ bow his head apologetically, as if sensing the programmer’s frustration.

Then, to make matters worse,  _ Leo  _ walks into the lab.

Guang-Hong goes stiff at the sight of him - and Leo notices. A small frown marrs his face as he walks up to the agent, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. Guang-Hong watches cautiously as they whisper to each other; then, with a quick salute, the unnamed agent stalks out of the lab, leaving Leo and the programmer alone.

Fuck.

Guang-Hong taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest for good measure.

“So, I’m cleared, right?” he barks, not bothering to hide his hostility.

Leo sighs, looking pained. “We didn’t really doubt your allegiance, you know. It’s just…”

“Standard procedure, yeah,” Guang-Hong cuts him off. “Did you need anything else? I have to start searching for Anton.”

Leo raises an eyebrow at that, much to Guang-Hong’s vexation. “No, but…”

He can’t help but glare. “But what?”

“Well…” Leo rubs the back of his neck. “We’ve already got all hands on deck to find Anton. Seung Gil’s been doing a virtual sweep of the city, Captain Altin has agents checking his known estates… What are you going to do?”

As soon as it leaves his mouth, Leo makes a grimace, like he knows it was the wrong thing to say. And indeed, Guang-Hong’s mouth twists unpleasantly; he turns sharply from the man that he let into his life, his  _ home,  _ for so many months, to go to his computer instead.

He hears Leo take a few cautious steps towards him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… You’re brilliant, Guang-Hong, I know you’ll think of something.”

“Your show of confidence is noted,” Guang-Hong murmurs as he begins typing. He starts to disconnect from the conversation as walls of text clog up his screens, his mind racing with solutions.

_ Right, so if Otabek’s sent his men out, he’s probably already checked Anton’s known residences and the Aelita headquarters… Seung Gil is searching the rest of the city via security cameras. He’s probably flagged Anton’s credit cards too, but I doubt he’d be stupid enough to buy anything, he has to know we’re looking for him.  _

_ He’d take Yuuri somewhere secure, but having a Doll in  _ tabula rasa  _ might be more of a liability to haul around, considering his limited faculties. And what’s he going to do with him, anyway? As far as we know, he doesn’t have a chair or a programmer available. _

Without looking away from his screen, Guang-Hong asks aloud, “You’ve talked to Victor, right?”

There’s a pause, but Leo eventually responds. “Yes?”

“You asked him if he knew anywhere his grandfather would go?”

“He said he only knew the places we were already aware of. Though, he was distressed, so he may not have been thinking clearly…” Leo steps even closer. “Should we ask him again?”

Guang-Hong purses his lips. “No, let him be. If he does think of anything, the first thing he’ll do is tell either Chris or Otabek, probably.” With another tap, he brings up a list of names - the employees at Aelita, according to the header at the top of the document. “What about these people?”

The programmer sees Leo in his periphery as he leans forwards to inspect the screen. “We had some agents at Aelita, I’m sure Captain Altin is having them interrogate the employees. Were you hoping one of them was close to Anton?”

Guang-Hong sighs, closing the list. “It’s a long shot, I know. He wasn’t exactly a buddy-buddy type of guy, but… Aside from Victor, there’s no one else here who really knows him. Well, there  _ was  _ Yakov, but…” 

He grimaces. He hadn’t known the older man all that well, but still, to be murdered in such a cold manner, by the man you grew up with and called your best friend… 

It’s a fucked-up situation all-around.

“Something will come up,” Leo says, drawing Guang-Hong from his thoughts. The programmer finally turns his head to see the agent fully, and on his face is a look of grim determination. It’s a look he’s familiar with, after months of seeing it up close. 

But before, he’d mistaken Leo’s determination for trouble at his ‘completely boring’ job as a music studio intern.

Guang-Hong scowls and looks away.

Leo notices. He gingerly puts a hand on Guang-Hong’s shoulder, ignoring the way he flinches. 

“We need to talk.”

_ “Now?”  _ the shorter man asks incredulously. “I don’t think this is the time.”

“No, not now. But when this all settles, and I pray to God that it settles soon, we need to… sit down and discuss things.”

“What’s there to discuss?” he retorts. “I lied to you about my job, you lied to me about yours. We’re both liars.”

He hears a groan, but fortunately, Leo removes his hand from his shoulder. “Guang-Hong…”

And Guang-Hong scowls again, ready to twist around in his chair and shut Leo down before he can speak up again - but. He catches a glimpse of a file on his screen and everything else fades away.

It’s an imprint file. Imprint LS-#18, to be precise; a file Guang-Hong’s seen and downloaded many times before, though never with a critical eye.

Knowing what he does now, though, he stares at it in awe, an idea forming in his head.

“Valentina…” he whispers.

Leo makes a confused face. “What?”

He’s ignored as Guang-Hong brings the file to his main screen, and the incessant clacking of the keyboard starts up again. Leo resigns himself to watch with a huff. 

As the programmer expects, the file is different from other imprints. There’s another layer to it, one that requires a special password to bypass, but Guang-Hong isn’t a tech prodigy for nothing. He gets through the password and another page of the imprint file reveals itself - along with terribly useful information.

“Valentina Nikiforova!” Guang-Hong hops out of his chair, startling Leo, and points at the file on his screen. “Anton’s wife!”

Leo blinks at him, then looks at the screen. “Guang-Hong… You, um… You know that she passed away a few years ago, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” Guang-Hong waves his hand dismissively. “But he’s the Chairman of the  _ Dollhouse _ .”

“... And…?” Leo leans in to peer at the screen. His eyes widen a bit, though not to the degree that Guang-Hong thinks they should. “Oh. He had a version of her made up for a Doll? That’s… disturbing.”

“No, no, no!” Guang-Hong shakes his head vigorously. “We  _ thought  _ he did, but that’s not it! Look at this!” He points to a section on the new page of the imprint file. “This isn’t some fantasy created by a lonely widower, this  _ is  _ Valentina Nikiforova!”

“I… I don’t follow.”

The shorter man groans, frustrated. “Look, it’s - it’s like backing up a hard drive. It was more like a rumor the staff liked to spread to creep others out, but… They said that certain privileged clients of the Dollhouse could ‘back up’ their memories. Have them stored onto wedges, and, when they died, there would be a version of them ready and waiting to be put into a new, better body.”

Leo’s face contorts with horror. “Guang-Hong, that’s awful! That’s… messing with the natural order of things, you can’t just…”

“We can debate the morality of it later,” snaps the programmer. “And they  _ were  _ just rumors. But right now, this is a  _ good  _ thing. A very, very good thing.”

_ “How?” _

He points to the screen again, to a specific passage. “Because right before Valentina died, instead of trying to help her through a heart attack she likely wouldn’t have survived, Anton had her brought  _ here,  _ and backed up her memories so he could have her back anytime he wanted.”

“So…” Leo glances at the screens, with a fair bit of difficulty. But it’s starting to dawn on him, too, to Guang-Hong’s relief. “Essentially, we... have Anton Nikiforov’s wife?”

“Well, there are blockers that prevent her from realizing she’s not… you know, herself,” Guang-Hong admits, “but those walls are easy to tear down if you know how to do it. And  _ I  _ know how to do it.”

“We could ask her,” Leo says quietly, the revelation finally realized. 

Guang-Hong nods excitedly. “If anyone could give us insight as to where Anton might’ve gone, it’d be her!”

And even if it’s not, she might be a good bargaining chip to use against Anton. The man might be twisted - twisted as all fucking get-out - but if he went through the trouble of storing a backup wedge of this woman, she must’ve meant  _ something  _ to him, right?

Leo lets out a little breath, like a sigh of shock and amazement and awe all at once. “O-Okay. I’ll get Captain Altin, get him to sign off on this.”

He turns on his heel, and Guang-Hong sits back at his computer, ready to call up the entire wedge from the Archives, before he thinks of something else. He twists around in his chair and catches Leo right at the door, calling out to him.

“Get Victor, too! It’s his grandmother, he should be the one to talk to her.”

Leo pauses, then nods. He leaves the lab moments later. Guang-Hong turns back to his computer screens, suddenly giddy with anticipation.

He gets right to it, accessing the full wedge. It’s intricate architecture, though it’s to be expected; Guang-Hong can make as many complex and ‘realistic’ imprints as he likes, but nothing is more complicated than a real human being’s memories. Threads of thousands of insignificant moments jump out at him, but they’re easily ignored by the experienced programmer, who finds what he’s looking for in just a few moments.

Like he said to Leo, the walls are easy to tear down if you know what you’re doing. Guang-Hong has the new wedge ready to be downloaded in under eight minutes. Smirking with self-satisfaction, he begins extracting the wedge to be put into the Doll - they’ll probably use Ludus for this, he thinks - when the the door to his lab opens again.

He turns, expecting to see Leo or Otabek or maybe even Victor, but it’s just another agent he doesn’t know the name of. Actually, it’s the one who was in here before, interrogating the programmer about his allegiance.

Guang-Hong frowns. “What is it?”

The agent bows his head in deference. “Sorry, sir, but we got interrupted. There are still a few questions left...”

“Ugh. Does it matter? I’m busy.”

“Sorry,” he repeats. He at least looks like he means it. “It’s just two or three questions, it won’t take a moment. You can still work, if you’d like.”

Guang-Hong purses his lips in displeasure. But turning him away might just make him complain and cause a fuss - he seems the type to care a little  _ too  _ much about protocol - so he figures it’ll be faster to just go along with it.

He turns back around and huffs, “Fine, go on, then.”

“Thank you, sir,” the agent says, visibly relieved.

Guang-Hong snorts, then waits. He only hears the agent walk closer. But he doesn’t start asking questions.

“Um. Hello?” Guang-Hong calls.

“I’m sorry,” the agent whispers,  _ right by Guang-Hong’s ear,  _ and so the programmer nearly jolts out of his seat.

Before he can even shout, however, a damp rag reeking of a chemical smell is shoved against his mouth and nose. Guang-Hong’s subsequent shout is muffled by the rag, and his vision starts to swim almost immediately.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _ fuck! _

He blacks out in seconds, writhing desperately against the agent’s hold as he loses consciousness.

The last thing he remembers is calling for Leo, but that too is muffled by the rag.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean,  _ ‘gone’ _ ?!”

Victor pauses in the doorway to the lab, brow furrowing. That was… Leo’s voice, he’s fairly certain. He’s the only person here who has an American accent, after all. Peering through the doorway, he sees the American, along with Otabek, Seung Gil, and Christophe.

And none of them look very happy.

Anxious, Victor steps into the room. “What’s going on?”

Christophe glances at him and grimaces. “It’s… Well, Guang-Hong. He’s gone, too.”

Victor blinks. “What?”

Otabek speaks next, looking thoroughly unhappy. “It seems one of my agents was working for your grandfather… He took Guang-Hong a little over half an hour ago.”

“But - …” Victor falters, walking closer to the group. “Why?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” says Seung Gil, who sounds the calmest out of them all. Though, he still wears a conflicted expression. “Our best guess is that Anton needs a programmer.”

“Shouldn’t he have one already?” asks Victor. “Guang-Hong can’t be the only one, right?”

Otabek shakes his head. “Everyone else who knows how to work the chair has been detained… and none of them are as good as he is.”

“Why are we just standing here talking about the  _ reasons?”  _ shouts Leo. “We need to go out and find him!”

“Calm down,” orders Otabek sternly, leveling the American with a cool look. “I understand your frustration, Leo, but there’s too much going on at once. We need to reconsolidate our plan.” He looks at the others. “Alright. So what do we know?”

Seung Gil answers. “Anton Nikiforov has both Yuuri Katsuki, as Eros, and Guang-Hong Ji. The location of all three is unknown, but they’re likely together. So, we should continue our efforts to find Anton; it’s our best chance of rescuing them.”

Victor frowns. “And what’s the progress on that right now?”

The Korean clicks his tongue. “Not great. We have no leads as to where he could be - every property of his has been searched, none of the employees at Aelita had anything useful to add, and the one person who could have given us anything - Yakov Feltsman - is dead.”

“Even Lilia couldn’t give us a clue,” Christophe says sadly. “She says that she’d never liked the man enough to really put up with him for long.”

Victor breathes out, feeling hollow. “So, we’re stuck.”

His statement hangs in the air as an unfortunate truth - what are they supposed to do now?

“Wait,” Leo’s head snaps up. “Earlier, Guang-Hong thought of something.”

He dashes to the programmer’s setup, which has since gone into sleep mode, though it wakes up once the agent taps a key on the keyboard. He looks to the screen, only to find it blank, and his face falls.

“What was it?” asks Christophe.

“Something about Anton’s wife, Valentina,” he murmurs. “He said Anton had a backed-up version of her installed as an imprint, and that we could use that to talk to her.”

“What?” Victor is dumbfounded. “That’s just an imprint. That’s not really her.”

“Guang-Hong said she was... modified? But her core consciousness was stored into a wedge right before she died.”

Christophe suddenly looks thoughtful. “That  _ is  _ a possibility… Did he find her original architecture?”

Leo shakes his head ruefully. “He was working on it. I have no idea if he finished it before he was taken or even if the double agent didn’t just delete the imprint forever.”

“I can look,” says Seung Gil, tone determined. He looks to Otabek. “It’s our only lead, we have to.”

“Can someone please tell me what the hell you’re talking about?” groans Victor. “Her ‘consciousness’ was stored? The hell does that mean?”

Very briefly, Leo tells Victor what Guang-Hong had told him. Christophe backs up his claims, saying that the theory is possible, but they usually have very strict rules against it. Of course, it doesn’t surprise anyone in the least to learn that Anton has bent said rules for his own gain. By the time they finish, Seung Gil is already tapping away at Guang-Hong’s computer, and Victor sinks into a nearby chair, his face in his hands.

“... He could’ve gotten her to a hospital,” he mutters. “He could’ve  _ saved her.” _

“Well…” Christophe shifts uncomfortably. “We don’t know that for sure.”

“She was in pain,” Victor snaps. He’s shaking as he speaks. “And instead of trying to take care of her, he brings her  _ here?  _ Turning her into some warped version of herself that he can manipulate?”

“I know,” says the former Director. “It’s… I can’t imagine what you’re thinking right now, Victor.”

“I’m thinking that the next time I see that piece of shit, I’m going to kill him.”

Otabek frowns. “Victor, I understand you’re angry, but I can’t let you do that.”

Victor glares at the shorter man. “Try and fucking stop me.”

“He needs to be taken in,  _ alive.  _ He could be instrumental in bringing down the other Dollhouses. And vigilante justice is not the way these things should be handled in the first place.”

Abruptly, Victor stands, striding over to where Otabek is. He gets right into the man’s face, snarling as he speaks.

“Tell me that when it’s  _ your  _ family this man has destroyed. When it’s  _ your  _ lover he’s taken and abused.”

Otabek grits his teeth and returns Victor’s glare. “Like I said, I understand - !”

Victor interrupts him. “No. You.  _ Don’t _ .”

Christophe glances warily between them, and Leo shifts uncomfortably from where he stands beside the computers, but it’s Seung Gil who speaks next.

“If you two are done,” he drawls, summoning everyone’s attention. He holds up a metallic rectangle that they all recognize immediately. “I found the wedge. Guang-Hong must’ve downloaded it just before he was kidnapped.”

Victor’s anger is replaced with cautious relief in an instant. “So, that’s…?”

Seung Gil nods. “Valentina Nikiforova.”

“Her Doll,” Otabek says. “Which one is it?”

“Ludus,” answers Christophe. “I’ll get her.”

He walks out of the room, and Seung Gil shows a rare smile, holding the wedge aloft. Victor looks at it and feels something akin to hope burgeoning in his chest - but he quashes it down quickly. No, no more high hopes that could be dashed at any moment.

He’ll remain cautious, and see what his grandmother has to say first.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. To be quite honest with you, dear readers, the reason this one took so long is because I fucked up on the last chapter. Guang-Hong was supposed to be taken alongside Yuuri but I kind of forgot that, so it was a scramble to get that fixed without having to go back and edit the last chapter.
> 
> On the bright side, I got to put in a convo between him and Leo, which I didn't have originally, and I think it added more to their relationship.
> 
> Also, I've decided that this fic will have two endings; one is official, the other is an alternate one, because I couldn't decide how I wanted it to go. So why not both?? It'll be at the reader's discretion which one they prefer.
> 
> Hopefully the next update won't take so long!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buuuuhhhh
> 
> I'm veering off from my outline so much I'm getting anxiety
> 
> but anyway here's an update

* * *

 

Guang-Hong awakens, mouth dry and head pounding, to a fairly unusual sight.

That is, Eros’s curious face hovering above his.

With a yelp from the programmer, the Doll startles back a few feet, eyes wide with alarm.

Guang-Hong struggles to sit up, and with that comes the realization that he’s on a comfortable couch. He’s definitely  _ not  _ at the Dollhouse anymore. The fog in his head clears quickly - it all comes rushing back to him. He closes his eyes and swears.

He’s been fucking kidnapped.

“Are you… okay?” Eros asks, cautiously making his way back to the couch. Guang-Hong stares at him. The Doll looks relatively unharmed, which… well, he supposes that’s good.

“I’m… fine,” he grits out. “Where are we?”

Eros shrugs, which Guang-Hong really should’ve expected. “In a house,” he answers.

“... Right. In a house.” He lets his head fall back against the couch with a groan. “Don’t suppose you could give me a street address? Postal code? Are we even still in St. Petersburg?”

Predictably, all Eros does in reply is frown. The programmer runs a hand down his face. He shouldn’t be so annoyed, he knows, but he needs information, and when it comes to that, Eros, or really any Doll, is basically useless.

Sighing, he sits up again, this time to take a more careful observation of the room they’re in. It’s well-furnished, most the decor obviously expensive… He supposes it wouldn’t be a wild guess to assume they’re in one of Anton’s properties, but he’s sure Otabek’s had them all searched already. Unless this is one they don’t know about? 

Regardless, when Guang-Hong looks out the windows, all he sees is trees and snow. Somewhere rural, perhaps. They’re certainly not in the city.

He hears Eros’s feet shuffle on the floor, so he looks at the Doll, only to find him fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“What is it?” he asks.

Eros bites his bottom lip, chewing absently for a few seconds before replying. 

“... Where’s Victor?”

Guang-Hong blinks. “Uh…”

“I want to see him,” the Doll goes on, expression growing more determined. “But that man said I couldn’t.”

“That man…?” He jolts. “You mean Anton? Er, that scary-looking old guy?”

Eros pauses, thinking, then nods. “He said I couldn’t see Victor until later. But I want to see him now.”

‘Until later’? Guang-Hong frowns. What in the hell did that mean? And where is - ?

Before the thought finishes crossing his mind, the door to the room opens. Both Guang-Hong and Eros turn their heads to see who enters.

“Ah,” Anton Nikiforov smiles pleasantly. “Mr. Ji, you’re finally awake.”

The programmer tenses. “Where am I?”

“Don’t worry about that,” the older man waves off his question as if it were an annoying fly. “You won’t be harmed, so long as you follow directions.”

Guang-Hong narrows his eyes. “What kind of ‘directions’?”

“The kind you’ve already followed your entire career.” 

Anton walks across the room, only stopping to pat Eros patronizingly on the head. To Guang-Hong’s distant amusement, the Doll’s frown only deepens at the gesture. But then Anton keeps moving to the other side of the room, where another door sits. It’s smaller than the door the man entered from, so Guang-Hong assumes it’s a broom closet or something.

Anton opens the door with a flourish, allowing both Guang-Hong and Eros a peek inside. Both their eyes widen with recognition, but Guang-Hong’s expression is tinged with slightly more horror.

There’s a very familiar set-up in that room. Computers and monitors, a chair in the dead center…

Anton turns back to face them both with a smile that belies his malicious intent.

“You’re going to give Eros his treatment.”

 

* * *

 

Victor tries to keep his eyes open as the lights flash in the lab, but to no avail. Everyone else manages it, he notices; it must have something to do with experience. 

He and several others are crowded around the chair, watching the red-headed Doll Ludus twitch and jerk as memories load into her brain. Beside Victor is Georgi, who watches his charge with a frown. He’d been reluctant to allow her to go into the chair again, but when Christophe impressed the important of this, as he’d called it, ‘final engagement’, the man had no choice but to relent. 

He still didn’t seem too happy about it, though.

Minako, Otabek, Leo, and Christophe are there, too, all with some degree of anxiety in their faces as they wait for Seung Gil to finish the treatment. 

They’re waiting for Valentina Nikiforova.

Finally, the flashing subsides, and the chair Ludus is on pulls back up to its normal position. Her blue eyes blink once, twice, and once more, pupils darting about the lab in confusion.

“Where…?” her voice starts, but then her gaze lands on Victor. Those same eyes widen with recognition. “Vitenka…?”

Victor swallows the lump in his throat. “... Hello,  _ Baba.” _

Her breath hitches, and she starts looking around the room again. “This is… Vitenka, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t… You’re not supposed to know about this place.”

Victor’s heart falls with the words. It’s confirmation of what he’s dreaded since learning they could bring his grandmother back… She knew about the Dollhouse. It makes sense, of course; how could she have been married to the Chairman of said institution for all those years and never realize it? 

That didn’t stop Victor from hoping she was untainted from all this mess.

“Mrs. Nikiforova,” Otabek steps forward. “I’m sure you must feel very disoriented, but we’re running on limited time.”

Ludus - Victor supposes he has to call her Valentina for now - frowns. “What is going on? Who are you people?”

“The basic summary is this.” Otabek’s face is grave. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re dead. Your consciousness was saved to a wedge by your husband right before your death, and you’re currently in the body of a Doll.”

Valentina’s eyes widen, her gaze dropping to her hands - younger, paler, and definitely not her own. Yet she doesn’t let out an exclamation of shock. She’s just… silent.

After a deep breath, Otabek goes on. “Anton Nikiforov is wanted by the government - in fact, several governments - for his contribution to the illegal operation that is the Dollhouse. Among his crimes are brainwashing, complicity in rape, complicity in torture, and murder. In addition…” Otabek sends an uneasy glance Victor’s way. “He manipulated the mind of your grandson, Victor, and had him under his control for several years.”

Valentina’s head swerves to look at Victor again, who shifts uncomfortably in his spot. 

“Is that… Is that true, Vitenka?”

Setting his jaw, Victor can only nod.

Valentina shudders. Silence reigns in the room for a few moments, allowing the woman time to process it all.

“Why am I here?” she asks shakily. “If I really am dead… And you’re working against my husband… Why did you put me in here?”

“Because we need your help,” answers Christophe. “We lost Anton, and we think you may have some insight as to where he could be hiding.”

Valentina purses her lips. “Do you really just expect me to help…? I have no idea who most of you even are. Yet you ask me to go against my husband? I know he’s not the best man - !”

“ _ Babushka,”  _ Victor interrupts, stepping forwards and holding her gaze. “He has Yuuri.  _ My  _ Yuuri.”

Immediately, her face falls. “What…?”

“He’s going to hurt him. He already has, he hates him for taking me away.  _ Please,”  _ he pleads, eyes beginning to burn. “Yuuri doesn’t deserve this. Help us save him.”

Valentina’s mouth opens… then closes again. She frowns down at her hands, as if still trying to discern if this is all real. Victor understands that feeling all too well; but whereas he had days to come to terms with it all, they can’t afford to extend the same courtesy to his grandmother.

The quiet seems to last forever, but finally, Valentina looks up grimly. 

“Where… Where have you already looked?”

Relief floods Victor’s body, and it seems to fill the room as a whole. Otabek launches into a short summary of the properties they’ve searched thus far, and Valentina listens patiently. After several minutes of thinking, she opens her mouth again.

“There’s… a country house. A few hours out of St. Petersburg. We used to spend our summers there, with… with our son. But when Dimitri distanced himself from it all, Anton never wanted to go back. But if he wanted to hide somewhere…”

Seung Gil raises an eyebrow at that. “There’s no such house listed under Anton’s name.”

“That’s because it’s listed under mine,” she says simply. “Or, my father’s. The family name is Romanov.”

Seung Gil nods, and gets right to it, moving to a different computer and tapping quickly at the keyboard. As they wait, Victor feels Valentina’s eyes boring into him, something unreadable in her expression. He hurriedly looks away.

“Well?” Otabek asks, after a few minutes. 

Seung Gil smirks triumphantly back. He swivels the monitor around so that everyone can clearly see it - it shows a topographical map of an area just outside of the city, and a blue dot is smack dab in the center.

“That’s it,” Valentina whispers softly. 

“Okay,” says Otabek. “We need to proceed cautiously. If Anton is there, he’ll have guards with him. The place is likely heavily guarded…”

“Wait,” Minako interrupts. Everyone stops to look at her, but her own gaze is directed at Valentina. “This house. Does it have a chair?”

Valentina frowns. “It has a lot of chairs.”

“Any like the one you’re sitting on right now?”

Valentina glances down, her frown deepening. “No…?”

“Minako?” asks Christophe. “What’re you trying to get at?”

“Why would Anton go here - presumably bringing Yuuri and Guang-Hong with him - if there’s not a chair? What would he even need Guang-Hong for if he can’t do anything?”

Seung Gil hums. “To be fair, Valentina has been dead for a few years now. He could have easily installed a chair and all the appropriate tech in the house after she passed away.”

Valentina's expression pinches, and Victor feels a surge of annoyance towards the Korean, though Seung Gil himself looks wholly unconcerned. 

“Either way,” cuts in Leo, “this place is our only lead. I say we scout the area, send in a few armed guards of our own, and take back the hostages.”

“That’s a bit much,” says Otabek. “But on the whole, I agree. Charging in with guns ablazing might not be the best strategy, however. He could hurt either Yuuri or Guang-Hong if we’re not careful.”

“And who’s to say he’s not expecting us already?” asks Minako. “He must’ve anticipated that we had Valentina here. And he hasn’t tried to leave the country, as far as we can tell, which would be the first move for any other criminal on the run.”

“So, you’re saying…” Christophe trails off.

Minako nods. “He’s waiting for us to find him.”

“Why?” Victor asks. 

At that, she shrugs. “Not sure. He has to have a trick up his sleeve, I know that much.”

“So…” Georgi finally speaks up, causing Victor to startle slightly; he’d almost forgotten the man was there. “What’re you going to do? If he’s expecting you, he’ll be ready. Do you have enough men to outnumber him?”

“We…” Otabek groans. “Don’t. Not at the moment, anyway. And I doubt we’ll have time to request more resources. We don’t know what he might try if he make him wait.”

A silence falls over the room, broken only by the hum of electronics all around them. Everyone wears an expression of deep thought, each trying to think their way out of this puzzle - all except Valentina and Victor. Valentina curls in on herself, eyes seemingly glued to the youthful skin that she knows isn’t her own, and Victor…

Victor already has his solution.

“I’ll go to him,” he declares grimly. Immediately, every head whips up to stare at him, with varying levels of shock. Valentina’s eyes are the biggest, and quite possibly the saddest, of the lot.

“No way,” Otabek responds, after a beat has passed. “Are you insane?”

“It’s too dangerous for anyone to go alone,” Leo interjects. “Least of all an untrained civilian.”

“Hold on,” says Minako. The room quiets, and she turns to Victor expectantly. “Let him explain.”

He spares her a grateful nod before continuing. “I’m the one Anton wants. This whole mess, more or less, started because I was going to leave. He won’t kill me, at least.”

“That’s... true,” concedes Seung Gil. “But he’ll still get his hands on you. And that’s what he wants - who’s to say he won’t run after that? With Guang-Hong in his possession, he could revert you back to how you were - or worse. It’s a horrible idea, going alone.”

Victor shrugs. “I didn’t necessarily say I’d go alone. Send a team with me - but small enough that they can slip past Anton’s guards without being noticed. Covert, you know?”

“A small team…” Otabek pauses thoughtfully. “So while you’re distracting Anton, we take out his forces and leave him defenseless. Then we can make the arrest.”

“Okay, but how is he going to distract Anton?” asks Leo.

“I can keep him talking,” Victor answers. “Long enough for you to do your jobs.”

“Vitenka,” everyone turns to look at Valentina, though her voice is subdued and quiet. She grasping her hands in front of her, twisting and wrenching them - an old nervous habit of hers, Victor remembers. “It… It still sounds dangerous. You shouldn’t put yourself in that situation for a plan that might not even…”

Victor grimaces. “It is dangerous. I’m not denying that. Honestly, I’m terrified just thinking about it. I never want to see that man again, but…” He takes a deep breath, then exhales. “If it’s to save Yuuri, I’ll do whatever I need to.”

Valentina’s hands fall to her lap. She’s staring at Victor with something akin to… nostalgia, perhaps. He doesn’t know what she sees, and he doesn’t feel it appropriate to ask. 

“I see…”

Christophe quirks a grin. “Well, there you have it. Unless someone can come up with something better, that’s our best plan.”

“It’s not ideal,” admits Otabek. “But we can work with it. Leo and I will start putting a team together. Seung Gil, send the location of the house to my phone. After that, I want you and Christophe to start on restoring the Dolls’ original personalities. Minako, I’d like you to brief the other handlers and staff on the situation - leave out the details of the plan, just let them know about the Dolls.”

Seung Gil nods, as does Christophe. Minako merely keeps on her face of determination.

“Alright. Let’s get to it, then.”

Otabek, Leo, and Minako depart the room, and, after giving Victor a consoling pat on the shoulder, Christophe follows suit. Victor, Georgi, Seung Gil, and Valentina are the few left.

“Right. Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Nikiforova,” starts Georgi. “I, um… realize this is a bit awkward, but the body you’re in…”

“I know,” she cuts him off. “This woman has her own life. You need me to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” he says; to his credit, he looks like he means it. 

Still, Victor’s gut twists unpleasantly, though he can’t name an exact reason. The fact that his grandmother is in that body at all is unnatural, but… It  _ is  _ her.

“I’d like to ask a favor, however.” Valentina looks pleadingly at the handler.

“What is it?”

“Just… Just five more minutes. I’d like to speak to my grandson.”

Victor stiffens, and Georgi and Seung Gil both give him a sideways glance. Georgi looks to the technician, who sighs.

“Five minutes,” he grunts. “No more.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Shall I give you some privacy?” Georgi continues to smile as she nods thankfully. “I’ll be just outside.”

He walks out of the lab, but Seung Gil remains in his place. Victor and Valentina look at him, but he crosses his arms and doesn’t move.

“Consider me a safety precaution,” he says. “Just in case.”

Victor sends him an annoyed look, but Valentina seems more understanding. She turns to Victor as if the Korean isn’t even there, and starts to speak.

“Vitenka… I’m so, so sorry this has all happened.”

Victor swallows thickly. It’s a bit harder for him to act like Seung Gil isn’t listening in, but at least he doesn’t seem to care about the conversation taking place. He’s merely checking his screen, presumably sending Otabek the coordinates like he’d been ordered to.

“I just…” he pauses, searching for the right words. “I don’t understand. How could you marry a man like that? Who does things like that,  _ uses  _ people like toys… And you knew?” 

He means to be angry. He wants to be, but… His voice comes out small and broken.

Valentina closes her eyes, shuddering as if she were bracing against a cold wind. 

“I didn’t know, at first. When we got married, he seemed… normal. A little gruff, perhaps, but I liked that. When he finally told me, I was pregnant with your father. It was… surprising, but what could I do? He promised me they were a charitable organization, and it was so easy to believe that… I  _ wanted  _ to believe he was an even better man than he was, helping people through their traumas, even if it was at a price…

“But even then, I would have my doubts. I tried to talk to him about, get him to change his practices, but he’d always brush me off. And he was so angry with me when I tried, I eventually just… stopped. I didn’t want to lose him, Vitenka, I… I loved him. I still do.

“I’m not trying to excuse his actions,” she says hurriedly, desperately, before Victor can get a word in. “I  _ know  _ that he needs to pay for what he’s done… I was just so relieved when Dima didn’t want to take over for him. I thought,  _ yes, at least I did something right, raising a man like that.  _

“Then I realized it wasn’t me. Dima had met that beautiful woman, your mother, and she made him realize that there are things you just can’t make a person feel, just as there are things you can’t take away. I… I was happy he’d found her, but I was also jealous. I wanted to be that for my Antosha, what Katya was to your father… And what your Yuuri seems to be for you.”

Victor’s breath hitches as Valentina finally stands up from the chair - in his periphery, he can see Seung Gil lean forwards, cautious, but she only takes a few steps towards Victor before stopping a foot away from him.

“I just wanted to explain myself,” she says, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m a weak woman, I know… I should’ve left the moment Anton told me the truth. Maybe I could’ve gotten away, spared you and Dima all this pain. But I didn’t, and I’m so sorry for that, Vitenka.”

“I…” Victor opens his mouth, then closes it, throat suddenly feeling too tight to form words.

“I hope you rescue Yuuri,” she says. “And I hope the two of you can be happy again, in spite of everything.”

Valentina reaches out, the soft curve of her palm cupping Victor’s cheek. It’s so damn familiar, Victor wants to cry.

“I love you, Vitenka,” she murmurs. “Never doubt that.”

“... I won’t,” he says quietly. “I… Thank you,  _ Baba.” _

She smiles again, and this time it does seem more genuine. “After I’m gone, make sure I’m gone for good. I don’t ever want to go through this again.”

Despite himself, Victor chuckles wetly. He glances at Seung Gil, who nods, for once looking respectful.

“I promise.”

Valentina’s hand slips from his skin. She sits back in the chair, spares her grandson one last smile, and when Seung Gil deems her ready, she closes her eyes…

With a flicker of lights, Victor watches his grandmother die - permanently, painlessly, and with a smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valentina might be favorite character, honestly. Like she fucked up with Anton and all, but I still love her. Might write a spin-off/AU where she does leave him, and how that decision would affect Victor later in life.
> 
> :)
> 
> Okay, so considering the fact that I'm only barely following my outline now... I'm thinking maybe 27 chapters? Not including the alternate ending. But we definitely won't go beyond 30. maybe. idk anymore


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets kind of, well... intense, towards the end. Nothing explicit happens, but in case anyone wants a clearer warning of what's gonna happen, I'll put a spoiler in the end notes for you to look at and decide if you still wanna read it.
> 
> That being said, hoo boy, am I proud of this one.

* * *

 

Minako taps an impatient finger against the railing, watching with a mix of interest and anxiety as the people on the floor below scramble, following the orders of either Otabek or Christophe. A concrete plan has more or less formed in the half-hour since they spoke to Valentina; Christophe has been prepping the Dolls for release, and Otabek has assembled his team.

Minako, of course, is on said team - she wouldn’t have taken any other assignment. Though the St. Petersburg Dollhouse is now largely disbanded, and she no longer has a ‘job’, Eros is still her charge. Guang-Hong is still her friend. She owes it to them to be a part of the rescue effort.

The sound of footsteps come to her attention, so she looks away from the chaos below to see Christophe striding towards her.

“Valentina’s gone,” he informs, looking solemn.

She frowns. “How is Victor?”

“He’s… pretty okay, actually.” Christophe gives a small smile. “He was crying, obviously, but… He said she was at peace. I guess that’s the best we could hope for.”

Minako shakes her head with a fond smile of her own. “He really is something, isn’t he? Most people would’ve broken by now. All these fucked-up things have happened, and he’s still going.”

“He has a pretty good motivation,” Christophe says softly.

Minako knows they’re both thinking of Yuuri, but neither of them say so out loud. They don’t need to.

They both stand in silence for a few moments, listening to the shuffle of feet and chatter of the people below.

“Who’s up first?” Minako asks.

“Georgi insisted on Ludus,” he answers. “It only seemed fair, so I approved. Seung Gil is retrieving her original architecture as we speak.”

“Are you going to pay her?” she continues, referring to the deal every Active makes before joining the Dollhouse.

“Well…” Christophe sighs. “That’s the plan. Of course, Otabek wants to see if any of the Dolls are willing to testify against the Dollhouse, so they’ll need all their memories in tact.”

She hums. “So what are you going to do?”

“Seung Gil suggested we bring back the original personality, no altered memories, and explain the situation. If they agree to testify, they have to agree to keep those memories. If they refuse, Otabek agreed to let us modify them and then send them on their merry way.”

As he speaks, Christophe’s mouth twists with a grimace; he’s clearly not looking forward to explaining the situation to _every_ former Doll. Minako offers him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder, though she snickers as she does so.

“This is what you get when you want to be the good guy, Chris,” she says, and he gives her a dry look.

“Says the woman about to risk her life... You don’t have any obligation to do this, you know.”

Her expression softens at the now-concerned tone Christophe takes on.

“But I do. I’ve protected Yuuri, for better or worse, for the past four years. Almost five. And Guang-Hong… I wouldn’t have called us friends a few months ago, maybe just coworkers, but _he’s_ risked his life for this. I need to help them, Chris. Even if I die trying.”

She means to say that last part with a smile, to show that she’s only teasing. But Christophe’s frown deepens, and he reaches for her hand with both of his own, squeezing it tightly.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs. “Please. You’re going to save them, and you’re going to come back.”

“I…” Minako rests her free hand on top of Christophe’s. “Of course.”

“Promise me, Minako.”

“I promise.” After a beat, she smiles again. “I’ve got a pretty good motivation, after all.”

He smiles back, finally looking a little less morose. Minako leans forwards, and -

“Minako!”

They’re both startled apart by a shout, their gazes traveling down to the ground floor, where they see Leo. His hands are cupped around his mouth.

“We’re getting ready!” he tells her. “Get your gear and meet us in the garage!”

Minako bites back a groan. “Alright,” she yells down.

Leo disappears from their field of view just a few seconds later, and Minako turns her attention back to Christophe with a sigh. He’s still smiling, but the tense edge has returned to his features. She’s about to say something when he moves.

Lifting her hands to his face, he presses a kiss to her knuckles.

“Be safe, _mon cygne._ _Et reviens à moi._ _”_

She lets out a small breath.

_“C'est promis.”_

 

* * *

 

Once everyone is at the designated meeting spot – the garage – Otabek lays out the plan.

It’s quite a simple one, really, which makes sense, considering how little time they’ve had to put it together. Victor will take a car out to the house first, with Otabek’s team (consisting of Otabek, Leo, Minako, and two other agents Victor hasn’t learned the names of) following about a half-hour behind.

Victor will have a mic hidden on his person, and this serves two distinct purposes: one, to let the others know his status, and two, to hopefully record a confession from Anton himself.

While he’s distracting Anton, Otabek’s team will arrive and incapacitate the guards as stealthily as they can manage. And when the coast is clear, they’ll go in to arrest Anton, and rescue Yuuri and Guang-Hong.

If all goes well, it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.

Still, Victor is nervous. He doesn’t want to look at his grandfather again for two seconds, let alone speak with him. Plus, who knows what he’s planning? It’s certainly not something Victor is looking forward to finding out.

And yet, despite his fears, he agrees to the plan without hesitation. It’s his only chance of saving Yuuri, after all.

Otabek puts the country house’s location into the GPS on Victor’s phone, pins the microphone under the lapels of his jacket, and then levels the Russian with a firm look.

“Remember to stay calm,” he instructs. “No matter what he says or does, you can’t fall for the bait.”

Victor’s fists clench at his sides. “… Right.”

Otabek’s expression loosens slightly, and he gives Victor an awkward thumbs-up. “Well then. Good luck.”

To his left, Victor hears a chuckle. It’s Christophe, who’s here simply to see them off. Or just to see Minako off, Victor’s not sure.

“Looks like you’re all set,” the former Director remarks. “If there’s anything else I can do for you…”

Victor looks at him, and finds Christophe looking back, indicating that his statement is directed towards Victor alone.

“… If you wouldn’t mind checking on my dog?” he smiles weakly.

Christophe lets out a full-on laugh at that, and in his periphery, Victor can see Minako’s lips twitch into a smile as well.

“I’ll do that,” Christophe soon replies, looking at Victor with fondness. “He’ll be right here to welcome both you and Yuuri back.”

Victor nods gratefully. “Thank you.”

And then… he’s off. He gets into a car, provided by the Dollhouse itself, pulls up the directions on his GPS, and starts driving. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he sees the forms of his colleagues grow smaller, until he drives out of the garage and onto the city streets.

His grip on the steering wheel is tight. It’s quiet in the car, save for the muted noises of the outside world - maybe he should turn on some music?

Grimacing, he opts not to. No distractions.

He keeps driving.

 

* * *

 

The house isn’t as grand as the Nikiforov manor, but it still looks like it belongs to someone with money. Someone with money who also apparently never wants to be disturbed - were it not for the GPS, he doubts he ever would’ve found the place. It’s tucked away in a grove of trees, on an off-road path that’s been partially obscured by the snow. Combined with the darkness of night now setting in, the house itself nearly disappears into the woods.

But as Victor turns onto the driveway, he sees two guards flanking the front entrance. And that’s how he knows he’s at the right place.

Parking the car, he steels himself with a deep breath. The guards are looking at the car expectantly, their guns raised as a precaution. Finally, Victor turns off the engine and gets out, fixing one of the guards with a stern glare, and he speaks with a confidence he knows he doesn’t have.

“I’m here to speak to my grandfather,” he announces.

The guards exchange a look. One of them nods, and the other lowers his gun to open the door. He gestures to the house’s interior, giving Victor permission to enter.

Victor swallows past the lump in his throat and wills his feet to carry him forwards.

He’s only a few steps inside when the door shuts behind him, causing him to startle. He looks behind him to stare at the door, but then he hears footsteps. He turns around again, this time to see Anton standing a few feet away - as always, he’s dressed in only the finest of bespoke suits, his hands resting behind his back as he raises an eyebrow at his grandson.

“I was wondering when you’d finally show up,” he says calmly. “And by yourself? Not a very smart move, Vitenka.”

Victor clenches his jaw, but otherwise forces himself to relax. “Don’t call me that. I just came to talk.”

“Talk?” Anton repeats with an incredulous laugh. “We’re far past talking, my dear boy. You’re here to act. I have no doubt you and your little band of renegades have something planned. But I’ll let my guards deal with them. You, on the other hand… I have something special in mind for you.”

Anton turns away before Victor can reply, walking up the stairs in the entryway. He turns back only to see if Victor is following him - when he sees that he isn’t, he rolls his eyes and raises a hand, crooking his finger in a ‘follow me’ motion. Victor has no choice but to obey.

As they walk up the steps and down another hallway, Victor notes the decor of the house. Wilted blue roses sit in vases along the walls, and paintings of old countryside Russia hang proudly above them. It’s… familiar. Then again, this was apparently his grandmother’s estate first.

Anton must notice his observant gaze. “I take it you spoke to your grandmother.” His tone is not one of question, but fact; cold and distant.

Victor resists the urge to lunge at him. How dare he look so bored, so detached?

“I did,” he answers. “I didn’t think it was possible for me to hate you anymore than I already did.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” scoffs Anton. “You’re just like your father. Failing to realize the utter genius of it all. The Dollhouse effectively ends death, and you call it a travesty.”

“You didn’t end anything,” Victor shouts, pausing in his walk. Anton does, too, and he turns to face his grandson with a cool loof. “If you’d really stopped death, why wasn’t _Baba_ walking around freely? Why was she a modified Doll for you to bring out whenever you got bored or lonely?”

Anton says nothing.

“Because you _knew_ she would hate it. Being in someone else’s body, taking someone else’s life from them. You knew she hated everything about the Dollhouse, but even then, you couldn’t let her go in peace, could you?” The rage that’s been broiling inside of Victor since… Well, since everything, is starting to come to the surface. “You had to keep her. Because that’s all you care about! Keeping people under your control! Whether it’s _Babushka,_ or me, or any of the Dolls.”

He pauses, and Anton again raises a brow.

“Are you finished?” he asks, tone neutral.

“... She said she still loved you,” says Victor. He feels a vicious wave of vindication tear through him when Anton’s expression shutters, shifting from aloof to shocked, if only for a few moments. “I don’t know why, but she… She still wished that things had been different. That she could’ve been your moral anchor, like Mama was for my Papa.”

Anton grimaces, turning his head away. “... ‘Wished’?” he asks. He’s referring to the past tense, Victor realizes.

He straightens his back and nods. “She asked to have her imprint removed from the Dollhouse. She’s gone, Anton. For good.”

For a second, Victor sees fury flash in Anton’s eyes. _Good,_ he thinks. Let him be angry. But unfortunately, that mask of cool indifference returns, and Anton looks unaffected by the news.

“I expected as much,” he says. “Perhaps you’re right. After all these years, maybe it was time to let go of her.”

“‘Maybe’?” Victor repeats with a snort. “Did you even love her?”

“Of course I did,” Anton snaps, facade flickering again. “My Valenka was the world to me. But unlike you, Victor, I’m not the sort to be blindsided by love. I had a business to carry on with, the Dollhouse to look after. An ungrateful brat to raise,” he adds, glaring at Victor, who returns the gesture without hesitation. “A day doesn’t pass where I don’t think of her. But I saw an opportunity and I seized it. Even if I knew she wouldn’t agree.”

Victor can only shake his head, bewildered at the depths his grandfather had been willing - is still willing - to go.

“You’re sad, _Dedushka,”_ Victor whispers. “The saddest man I’ve ever met.”

Anton sneers. “Keep your pity to yourself. Come, we haven’t got all day.”

He turns and starts walking again. Victor slowly starts after him, wondering just how long it’s been. Otabek and the others probably won’t be here for a few more minutes…

He’s drawn out of his thoughts as Anton stops in front of a door. There’s nothing remarkable about it - it looks like every other door they’ve passed in the hallway. But Anton steps aside, looks Victor in the eye, and gestures towards the door, as if telling him to open it.

Victor frowns at him.

“It isn’t a trap, if that’s what you’re wondering,” snickers Anton. “In fact, I think you’ll rather like it.”

That does nothing to quell Victor’s suspicion. But he has no other choice. Sighing, he tentatively reaches for the knob and turns it, letting the old door creak open…

It’s an old music room on the other side. A dusty grand piano and harp sit on a worn rug on one side, while an old-fashioned gramophone sits on the other, piles of records still in their sleeves stacked next to it. There’s two sofas and a wide berth of floor, probably for dancing, but Victor doesn’t notice any of this, because there’s something far more important that his eyes are immediately drawn to.

Eros.

He’s sitting on one of the sofas, shifting uncomfortably at the moment Victor opens the door - but as soon as he hears the creak, he startles, gaze whipping over to the entrance, and he sees Victor. Victor tries sending the Doll a small, reassuring smile, but when Eros looks at him… It’s different.

His eyes go round, brows drawn up in surprise. His mouth parts, as if to speak, but no words will come out. He looks like Victor is a ghost come to haunt him, and nothing like the docile and naive Doll Victor was expecting.

When a word finally leaves his lips, strained and hopeful and disbelieving all at the same time, Victor realizes why.

“V-Vitya…?” Yuuri Katsuki whispers.

“Yuuri?” Victor’s voice is equally pinched. He doesn’t dare hope, not now. This has to be a trap, that can’t be his _zvezda -_

Yuuri (?) stands from the sofa, visibly trembling. He doesn’t take his eyes off Victor for a millisecond.

“B-But you’re…” Yuuri’s eyes start to glisten. “You’re not… How are you…?”

Victor hears movement behind him, and Anton’s voice not a moment later.

“It’s him,” his grandfather says. “I know you probably don’t believe me, but it’s him. Go on. Ask him anything. Something only your precious little Yuuri would know.”

Victor’s fists clench at his sides, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the Japanese man before him. Yuuri stares back, body tensed like he’s afraid to move, like if he does, Victor will shatter and disappear forever.

He doesn’t believe his grandfather, that much is true. But… He looks at Yuuri’s stricken expression and feels his heart break.

If there’s even the slightest chance…

He swallows the lump in his throat and speaks quietly. “How did we meet?”

Yuuri jumps as though Victor’s just screamed at him. “W-What?”

“How did we meet?” he repeats, desperately trying to keep his voice neutral.

“W-We…” Yuuri’s shoulders rise and hunch forwards, as if he’s curling in on himself. It’s such a _Yuuri_ thing to do, Victor knows, but he still waits for his answer. “I-It was at the University of Moscow…? Y-You… We ran into each other, and then… You took me to the ballet studio.”

Victor lets out a small breath. “And then you gave me your number.”

Tears start to spill over Yuuri’s cheeks. “Victor…?”

Victor’s feet move before he can think. In an instant, he clears the room and is in front of Yuuri. Before the shorter man can make a sound, Victor’s arms wrap around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Victor buries his head in the nape of Yuuri’s neck - he still doesn’t smell right, he smells like the Dollhouse, but he doesn’t care - just as Yuuri, after some floundering, cautiously raises his own arms to wrap around Victor’s back.

Victor feels his shoulder grow damp, as well as the tremors wracking Yuuri’s body. He’s sobbing, though Victor’s not much better. Tears sting threateningly behind his eyes, and it’s only because he wants to see Yuuri, _his Yuuri,_ clearly that prevents them from falling.

“I -!” Yuuri hiccups through his crying, “I’m dreaming…! This isn’t - you can’t be - !”

“You’re not dreaming,” Victor replies urgently, though quietly, whispering harshly against the younger man’s skin. “I’m real, _zvyozdochka._ I’m here. See?”

He pulls his face back enough for Yuuri to look at him. Wide, brown eyes bore into him, pupils darting about his face rapidly, as if trying to find some imperfection to prove that this isn’t real. But he must not find any, for he unwinds his arms from Victor body to cup his face with both hands. His hands are trembling, just like the rest of him.

“How…?” Yuuri whispers. “You - You _died,_ Victor. You were _gone.”_

Victor swallows again. There’s so much he needs to say, but…

“It’s a long story,” he replies. “And I promise, I’ll tell you everything once we get out of here.”

“Oh, that’s not going to happen.”

Anton’s voice startles them both. They turn to look at him. The older man is leaning against the doorway, casual as you please, watching their little moment with thinly-veiled disdain. And he’s not alone; one of the guards from the front entrance to the house is there, too, wielding a thick black baton in his hands.

Victor feels Yuuri curl in closer to him. “W-Who…?”

Anton gives him a smile, but it’s an ugly, cruel-looking thing. “Well, hello, Mr. Katsuki. I’m Victor’s grandfather. I’d say I’m delighted, but… Well, I imagine you’ve had enough of lies.”

Victor shifts his stance, blocking Yuuri from Anton’s view, as his arms tighten protectively around the smaller man.

“... What was the point of this?” Victor asks. “What are you planning?”

“What, aren’t you happy?” Anton feigns surprise, as he and the guard walk further into the room, the latter closing the door behind them. “You got to see your precious, darling whore one last time.”

Victor tenses; so does Yuuri. “Last time before _what?”_

“V-Victor, what’s going on?” Yuuri asks desperately, not daring to raise his voice.

“That’s a good question,” Anton says. “See, I’ve come to realize something, in the midst of all this chaos. I should’ve never tried to make a successor. You and your father would’ve never made it. You don’t have my conviction, my ambition. Aelita and the Dollhouse are only safe in my hands. So in my hands they will remain… figuratively speaking.” He smiles at Victor. “Physically, they’ll be yours.”

Victor is confused for only a split second before he remembers his grandmother. The horrifying realization dawns on him, and he feels sick to his stomach.

“You wouldn’t,” he whispers.

Anton and the guard draw closer, so Victor tries to maneuver himself and Yuuri further away. But they’re blocked off by the sofa, and there’s nowhere to escape to otherwise.

“You should know better by now, Vitenka,” drawls Anton, “that I will do anything for my legacy. Anton Nikiforov will die, and Victor Nikiforov will take his rightful place as his heir… At least, that’s how the rest of the world will see it. In reality, it’ll be _you_ who dies, and your slut along with you.”

“No!” Victor shouts, wrapping his arms tighter around Yuuri, who’s still asking questions, still horribly confused and scared. “I won’t let you!”

“Oh? And how are you going to stop me?” Anton nods to the guard, who stalks forward, raising the baton. Victor again shields Yuuri with his body, but - the guard wasn’t aiming for Yuuri in the first place.

He feels the full weight of the baton slam into his lower leg. A sickening _crack_ resonates through the room, but it’s drowned out by Victor’s anguished cry and he crumples to the ground.

Yuuri screams, falling to his knees to help Victor. He only gets to have his hands hover with uncertainty above Victor’s groaning form before he’s grabbed by his hair and pulled up. He cries out in pain, forcing Victor to tilt his head up to see what’s going on.

Anton has his hands in Yuuri’s hair, snickering at the tears still streaming down his face.

“Oh relax. I gave specific instructions to not cripple him. I don’t want to spend my new life in a broken body, after all.”

“Why are you doing this?” sobs Yuuri. “Just let us go, please!”

“I can’t do that, Mr. Katsuki,” Anton shakes his head. He brings Yuuri in closer, but the younger man tries to shove him away, though to no avail. “You see, you and my grandson have been thorns in my side for too long now. I simply can’t afford to let you both run loose. But, don’t worry. You’ll get to be together… in a sense.”

Victor groans, struggling to sit up in spite of the pain in his leg - it’s definitely broken. “Wha…” he tries to get out a question.

“I’m fond of your Yuuri, in a way,” explains Anton. He looks to Yuuri and smirks. “Don’t you remember?”

Shaking, Yuuri says no.

“Ah, of course not. It’s standard procedure to wipe any memories of when you were a Doll upon reawakening. But you _do_ remember the Dollhouse, don’t you?”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. So does Anton’s smirk.

“You do. You agreed to whore yourself out, let strangers fuck you however they wanted. All in exchange for forgetting my dear, dear grandson. I’d almost be offended, if you weren’t so damn _good._ One of our best, I’d say. Of course I had to test you out myself.”

Horror dawns on Yuuri’s face. “N-No…”

“So I’m going to keep you,” Anton continues pleasantly. “And really, before you start crying again, think of it this way: it’ll still be Victor’s cock pounding inside of you.”

“You sick _fuck,”_ Victor roars from beneath them. “I’ll kill you!”

He tries to grab at Anton’s leg, but the guard grabs him by the back of his neck and yanks him back, sending him sprawling across the floor, the pain in his leg flaring up a thousand fold. It makes him scream, and Yuuri calls out his name again in clear distress.

“Try not to move, Vitenka,” Anton instructs. “It’ll only make your leg worse.”

Victor grits his teeth and spits out a curse. “Fuck you!”

Suddenly, they all hear something else. Gunshots, echoing from outside the house, accompanied by shouting. Yuuri startles, the guard looks to Anton, and Anton merely huffs. Victor, on the other hand, feels a small wave of relief and hope.

Otabek. Minako. The others. _They’re here._

“Go and see to the rabble,” Anton orders the guard, who hesitates, glancing at Yuuri first, then Victor.

“Sir, are you sure...?”

Anton sighs, and with the hand not gripping tightly in Yuuri’s hair, reaches into his suit jacket. He produces a small pistol, which makes Yuuri gasp and try to squirm out of Anton’s grasp yet again.

“I can manage these two on my own,” Anton says calmly. He pulls Yuuri back with some effort, and aims the gun under his jaw. Yuuri freezes, eyes wide with terror.

Victor bristles, and he tries to move, despite every muscle in his leg screaming at him to stop, but it’s a useless effort anyway. The guard must see this, for he merely nods, bows, and excuses himself from the room.

“Now then…” Anton throws Yuuri down onto the sofa, watching with a satisfied grin when the young man hits his forehead against the wooden frame and cries out as a result. He sends Victor this same smug smile before climbing on top of Yuuri, to the dread and panic of Victor.

“No!” he screams, throwing out a hand as if to stop him. But he’s too far from the sofa to do anything. He can only watch as his Yuuri recovers from his minor injury, only to find Anton on top of him, free hand pawing at his clothes. He can only watch as his Yuuri pushes at Anton, begging him to stop, eyes switching from horror at the older man to pleading and desperate to Victor.

“This will be your last memory, Vitenka,” comes Anton’s mocking voice. His grandfather presses a kiss to Yuuri’s neck, ignoring Yuuri’s sobs, and he presses the barrel of the pistol against Yuuri’s stomach, likely to deter him from fighting back too much. Anton turns his head to look Victor in the eye. “Treasure it.”

Victor snaps.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but when he pushes up, the pain from his broken leg seems distant. He doesn’t have the time nor patience to contemplate this, however, because he’s only focused on one thing.

He tackles his grandfather at full speed, sending the sofa toppling over with their momentum. He hears Anton shout. He hears Yuuri scream.

He hears the gun fire.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING (SPOILERS): Anton gets the upper hand here and has Victor's leg broken. He then threatens Yuuri with a gun and starts making sexual advances on him while Victor is forced to watch. Victor does, however, act before things can get too serious.
> 
> aaaaaand cliffhanger. honestly this fic's alternate name should be liberal abuse of cliffhangers.
> 
> Translations (please correct me if these are wrong btw)  
> mon cygne - my swan  
> Et reviens à moi - And come back to me.  
> C'est promis. - I promise.  
> (Edits made to the French, many thanks to Assasin8 and Papillon82!)
> 
> we're so close guys. so. fuckin. close.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t h i r t e e n p a g e s
> 
> (tbh though i couldn't stand the cliffhanger any more than y'all)

* * *

 

There’s a bullet hole in the ceiling.

That’s the first thing Yuuri registers - he’s on his back, staring dazedly skywards, only to see the small hole piercing through the roof of the room, chips of plaster falling towards the ground. One of these chips lands on Yuuri’s cheek, and it’s that small motion that jolts him back into awareness.

His ears are still ringing from the sound of gunfire, and his head is pounding from hitting the floor as rapidly as he did, but still, he struggles to sit up. The room is spinning, he’s so confused - where is he? What’s going on?

And then he sees the two figures grappling on the floor, not two feet away.

One of them is an elderly man, holding his own surprisingly well in the fight, the very gun that had discharged gripped tightly in one hand. His opponent is holding both of his arms down with his hand, making sure the gun isn’t aimed at anyone in the room. His leg is bent at an awkward angle, his face contorted with both pain and determination.

He has silver hair and ocean blue eyes, and suddenly Yuuri remembers everything.

_Victor!_

Just as the older man manages to flip Victor over and seemingly gain the upper hand, Yuuri hurries to rush at them- he’s Victor’s _grandfather,_ Yuuri remembers, though he’s still confused by that particular tidbit.

But there’s no time to ponder it; not when Victor’s grandfather has just wrenched his gun-wielding hand free from Victor’s grip. He doesn’t point the barrel of it at Victor. Instead, he rears his hand back and then swipes, smacking Victor in the face with the handle.

Victor lets out a loud curse - Yuuri sees blood trickle down from a newly-formed cut above his eyebrow.

“No!”

He can’t stop himself from shouting, nor can he stop his body from moving; Yuuri tackles Anton with as much momentum as he can muster, succeeding in knocking the older man off Victor. Both Yuuri and Anton fall in a heap a little ways from Victor, both grunting as they collide against the ground. The gun falls out of Anton’s hand and clatters across the floor, stopping a few feet away.

“Yuuri!” he hears Victor’s voice call out, distressed.

“You little - !” Anton recovers quickly and grabs Yuuri by the throat. Yuuri’s hands scramble up to try and pry his hand off, but he only just manages to make the older man loosen his grip marginally. Anton’s other hand joins in the effort, and soon, Yuuri is left gasping for air, spots appearing in his vision.

Suddenly, Anton’s weight disappears, the vice around Yuuri’s neck going along with it, allowing Yuuri to take deep, heaving breaths. He blinks rapidly in an effort to clear his vision, and once he does, he sees Anton on the floor, Victor towering above him.

Sweat is beading at Victor’s temple, mingling with the blood from his cut. It’s obvious he’s still powering through the pain of his leg, but it doesn’t impede the assault he unleashes upon Anton. He pins Anton to the ground with the knee of his good leg, and with wild, near animalistic movements, his fists pummel into the older man. Yuuri can’t see Anton’s face, but judging by the spasms of the rest of his body, he feels the impact of every strike.

A glint catches Yuuri’s eye next. Almost unwillingly, his gaze travels slightly, and he sees Anton’s pistol lying abandoned on the floor, partially hidden under the old grand piano.

A wheeze of pain draws Yuuri’s attention again.

Anton has just managed to punch Victor in the gut, making his grandson double over in surprised pain. He takes advantage of the moment by grabbing him by the shoulders next and throwing him off to the side. Victor lands on his bad side and shouts in agony, only to be cut off with a fierce kick to his injured leg.

Anton hobbles to his feet, glaring down at Victor with so much vitriol it makes _Yuuri_ freeze up in terror.

“You pathetic, insolent little wretch,” he sneers, kicking Victor again, but this time in the stomach. Victor gasps as his foot makes contact, curling in on himself instinctually. Anton looks like a monster, his face bruised and furious. A split lip makes blood fly from his mouth as he speaks, staining his teeth red. “Just for all that, your last memory is going to be much worse. I’m going to _kill_ that little bitch, and it’s going to be your fault!”

 _“Deda,”_ Victor chokes out, fighting back to urge to vomit. His eyes are wet with tears. _“Deda,_ please, don’t!”

“I’ve given you so many chances,” Anton replies, unswayed. He puts his foot over Victor’s shin and slowly applies more pleasure. A sickening smile spreads over his lips as Victor cries out. “So many opportunities to do the right thing. But you wasted them all, and you have to be punished.”

Victor grits his teeth and, amazingly, musters the ability to speak. “Then punish _me!_ Let Yuuri go! _Deda,_ I love him!”

Anton narrows his eyes. He turns his gaze on Yuuri, who flinches.

Then, he speaks.

“By this time tomorrow, Vitenka, you won’t even remember he ever existed.”

He takes his foot off Victor and begins stalking towards Yuuri, who finally registers what’s going to happen next. With a terrified yelp, he starts to crawl back, but Anton continues to steadily advance, fury blazing in his eyes.

“You should’ve just kept to yourself,” growls Anton. “None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t seduced him!”

Anton bends over and grabs Yuuri’s ankles, yanking him back a few inches. Yuuri kicks out on instinct, managing to dislodge one of Anton’s hands as he tries to scurry back again, now crawling on his stomach.

Yuuri keeps going, though his body is trembling. Part of him wants to reply, to call Anton a madman. Another part of him wants to ignore Anton completely and rush to Victor’s side. He _just_ got him back - he can’t lose him again, not when he has so many questions.

It’s this thought that keeps Yuuri moving as a last-ditch attempt at self-preservation.

He’s just made it under the shadow of the grand piano when Anton pulls him back again, this time more roughly - he can already feel a bruise setting into the skin above his ankle.

“Come here, you little - !”

Anton doesn’t finish, because that’s when Yuuri moves. Just before he’s pulled back from under the piano, his hand curls around cool metal, and when Anton speaks, he turns around as quickly as he can manage.

He sees Anton’s eyes widen at the sight of the pistol in his grip. But that’s all the time for reaction he has, because Yuuri catches a glimpse of Victor’s bloody form, and without hesitation, he fires.

Anton’s head jerks to the side - Yuuri sees a spray of blood, and normally, he’d be horrified, but as soon as the older man falls to the ground all Yuuri cares about is getting to Victor. Dropping the gun, he does just that, he clambers to his lover’s side.

Victor looks… terrible. There’s no other way to describe it. The cut on his head is still bleeding profusely, forcing Victor to shut one eye to keep blood out of it. His leg is still twisted in the grotesque angle; it hurts just to look at. And that’s not to mention the purplish and red bruises starting to bloom on Victor’s pale skin.

And yet, Victor is still breathing, and awake, and looking at Yuuri with shock and awe in his eyes.

Yuuri is on his knees beside Victor, hands hovering with uncertainty over his body.

“Oh God, Victor,” he breathes. He doesn’t know where he should even start - there’s not a first aid kit anywhere nearby, he’s sure. His throat closes up as he feels tears building behind his eyes.

He’s so caught up in his horror that he jolts when he feels a hand curl around his wrist. But a quick glance down shows that it’s Victor’s hand, his thumb stroking slowly over Yuuri’s skin, in what he assumes in meant to be a comforting gesture.

“It’s alright, _zvezda,”_ Victor rasps. “I’m alright. It’s over. We’re okay…”

“How can you say that?” Yuuri sobs. “Look at you!”

“What?” Victor, to Yuuri’s astonishment, gives a lopsided grin. “Are you saying I’m not handsome anymore, Yuuri?”

Despite himself, and though he lets out another sob, Yuuri feels a smile blossom onto his face. He gingerly reaches out and cups Victor’s cheek.

“Never,” he whispers.

They sit in silence for a little while - Yuuri’s not actually sure how long it lasts, but he does know when it’s interrupted.

The door to the room opens with a loud crash, startling both him and Victor. A woman with long brown hair, wearing a bulletproof vest and wielding a gun, stands in the doorway, looking like she’s just fought her way through hell.

“Victor!” she shouts, gaze zeroing in on the two figures on the floor.

Yuuri, once again acting on instinct, curls protectively over Victor’s body, eyeing the woman with no small amount of wariness. Even though the woman is inexplicably familiar to him, it’s not enough to overpower his desire to protect Victor.

“It’s okay, Yuuri,” Victor says weakly. “She’s… a friend…”

The woman’s eyes widen upon hearing Yuuri’s name. But then something akin to understanding settles on her features. She puts away her gun and slowly starts approaching them.

“Katsuki Yuuri?” she asks.

Yuuri swallows thickly. “Y-Yes…?”

The woman, to his surprise, smiles like she’s _relieved._ “I’m Okukawa Minako,” she tells him, speaking in Japanese. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She kneels on the ground on the other side of Victor. The kind look on her face gives way immediately to concern as she takes in the full scope of his injuries.

“Well,” she starts, switching over to English. “I have to admit, you’re in better shape than I thought you’d be.”

Victor chuckles as best he can. “It’s because of my Yuuri. He saved me…” Then he grimaces, feeling a flare of pain, though from which injury, Yuuri can’t tell.

“Vitya, you should stop talking,” says Yuuri quietly, squeezing Victor’s hand.

“I concur,” says Minako. “The others are rounding up the rest of the guards. As soon as Otabek gives the word, we’ll get you both back to the Dollhouse as soon as possible to get looked at.”

At the words ‘the Dollhouse,’ Yuuri’s gut goes cold with horror.

“W-Why are we going there?” he asks, tone bordering on frantic. “Aren’t they - wasn’t _he - ?”_

Minako raises an eyebrow, so Yuuri gestures to Anton’s unmoving body a few feet away. She looks stunned when she sees him.

“Ah… Otabek might not be happy about that…” Minako shakes her head as she gets up, crossing over to where Anton lies. She puts two fingers by his neck and then sighs. “Nevermind. He’s still breathing.”

“Damn,” Victor intones, but he’s quieter now. Yuuri looks back at him and sees his other eye starting to flutter shut.

“No, Vitya, stay awake, please,” he begs.

“Hurts,” he croaks. “Everywhere… Kiss it better, _zvyozdochka?”_

Yuuri tries and fails to resist smiling. “I will, Vitya. But you have to stay awake first.”

Another man enters the room just then, and though he looks quite intimidating, he wears the same bulletproof vest as Minako, so Yuuri only watches cautiously from his same position.

“The building is secure,” he tells Minako.

“Guang-Hong?” she asks, standing up again.

“Leo found him. He’s escorting him to the van as we speak.” The man blinks, presumably catching sight of Anton. “Is he…?”

She shakes her head. “Alive. Has a nasty bullet graze to his right cheek, but I doubt it’s fatal.”

The man sighs, nodding with an odd air of relief around him. “Alright, I’ll have some medical personnel sent up to collect him. What about…”

His gaze travels over to Victor and Yuuri.

Minako answers. “Victor’s in bad shape, but he’s still talking. And that’s Yuuri Katsuki.”

He blinks. “As in…”

“As in, not Eros anymore. Anton’s doing. I’d rather not know what he was planning.”

His mouth twists unpleasantly. “Right… I guess the best we can do for now is send them to Dr. Nekola. Can you go with Leo and escort them all back?”

“Of course.”

Minako walks back to Yuuri and Victor and kneels beside the former.

“I’m going to need your help, okay, Yuuri? We’re going to get Victor to a doctor.”

He frowns, but nods; it doesn’t make sense to protest. Not with Victor looking like keeping his eyes open is an uphill battle.

In the next few minutes, a lot of things happen. As Yuuri and Minako help Victor sit up, the man - whom Yuuri later learns is Otabek - takes the lid prop from the grand piano and uses it as a makeshift splint for Victor’s leg. Then, Minako and Yuuri do their best to bring Victor downstairs.

It’s slow going, as jostling him around too much causes him to groan, which breaks Yuuri’s heart, but eventually they manage.

The house has other inhabitants, Yuuri notices. There are other people wearing the same bulletproof vests as Minako and Otabek, but there are also people dressed like the guard that came in with Anton. In fact, Yuuri sees the very guard responsible for Victor’s leg - he’s lying motionless in a puddle of blood, like a few of his colleagues.

Yuuri knows he should be terrified, but a vindictive stab of _serves you right_ overpowers whatever fear rises to the surface.

Finally, he helps Minako maneuver Victor into a black van. Another man in a bulletproof vest sits in the driver’s seat, while a brown-haired younger man that Yuuri actually recognizes sits in the back.

He’s the same man Yuuri first saw when he woke up in that godforsaken house. Yuuri was confused, and tried asking him questions, but the man barely had time to say “I’m so sorry,” before Yuuri was dragged out of the room by more guards, only to be deposited in the music room.

He looks at Yuuri as he helps Victor inside, and he offers a small, barely-there smile.

Yuuri doesn’t smile back, but he nods in acknowledgement, even though he still doesn’t know who he is.

Victor is settled on his back, his head pillowed in Yuuri’s lap. He’s still awake, gazing up at Yuuri with those same blue eyes he never though he’d get to see again. Yuuri threads his fingers through Victor’s hair, earning a strained smile from the Russian.

Yuuri barely notices the van start up, nor does he see Minako slip quietly into the passenger’s seat. He just keeps his eyes on Victor.

He can’t trust that he won’t vanish the moment he looks away.

 

* * *

 

Victor remembers being helped into the van, but shortly after they started driving, he’d passed out; the pain from his injuries had finally overwhelmed him, and the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Yuuri’s eyes - _his_ Yuuri’s eyes, not the glazed-over and distant ones of Eros.

He’d passed out with a smile, he was fairly sure.

When he awakes, he’s back in the Dollhouse infirmary. He feels numb all over, particularly in his leg. Glancing down, he sees said leg in a cast. If he scrunches up his face, he feels a patch of gauze over the cut on his eyebrow.

He almost laughs - he must look like such a mess.

“Victor…?”

Victor startles, turning his head quickly to see someone at his bedside. No, not just someone - his heart swells as he sees Yuuri sitting beside him, the younger man’s face twisted with concern.

He smiles, feeling close to tears. “Hello, _zvyozdochka.”_

Like a faucet, Yuuri’s eyes well up with tears, and he barks out a sob. His hands shoot to grab one of Victor’s, squeezing it tightly.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can take much more…”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. Even though nothing that’s happened has been done of Victor’s own free will. “But we’re alright now. It’s all over, Yuuri.”

Yuuri sniffles. “I… I guess.”

Noting his somber tone, Victor frowns. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri removes one of his hands to wipe at his eyes. “T-That woman… Minako. She filled me in on everything. I-I remember everything, now.”

Victor heart falls. “Everything?”

“Everything…”

“Oh, _zvezda,”_ Victor reaches out and cups the Japanese man’s cheek. “None of it was your fault.”

Yuuri, instead of being comforted, looks even more distressed. “How can you say that?”

Victor pauses. “The Dollhouse took advantage of you. Like they do with everyone.”

Yuuri shakes his head, tears flying from his face. “No, Victor, you don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He watches as Yuuri’s mouth presses into a thin line, though his lip still trembles. Then, just as Yuuri opens his mouth again, the door to the infirmary opens, and loud barking fills the room.

Both Yuuri and Victor turn to look at the intrusion. They see Emil, struggling with a black leash, on the end of which is…

“Makkachin!” Yuuri exclaims, shock coloring over the sadness on his face.

The poodle lets out another exuberant round of barks, rearing up on his hind legs to try and run over - he’s only stopped by the grip Emil maintains on the leash.

“Calm down, boy,” the doctor pleads, clearly exasperated. He slowly walks over, presumably so that Makkachin doesn’t jump on the bed and accidentally hurt Victor.

Though it’s actually Yuuri that Makkachin makes a beeline for first. He pants with his tongue lolling out, rubbing his wet nose against Yuuri’s thigh, while the Japanese man stares down at him with disbelieving eyes.

Then, quick as a flash, Yuuri lets out another sob and gets out of his chair to hug the poodle.

Emil shares a look with Victor, raising an eyebrow as he asks a silent question. Victor nods, and so the doctor lets go of the leash and walks away quietly, leaving the three of them in peace.

Victor lets Yuuri cry for a little while, watching him with a mix of fondness and sadness. Makkachin, for his part, tries to stop Yuuri’s tears by licking them away. He succeeds in getting Yuuri to give a wet laugh.

“I missed you, too, Makka,” he coos softly, his tone nasally due to his clogged nostrils.

“More than me?” Victor pouts, going for a jovial tone. It backfires, since Yuuri looks back at him with another sad look.

“I missed both of you,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to see you again…”

“Hey,” Victor holds out his hand. “I know. But I’m here now.”

“I know…” Wiping his face, Yuuri stands, and Makkachin sits obediently at his feet. “I still can’t believe it…”

He slips his hand back into Victor’s. The Russian strokes his thumb over his knuckles, and they sit in relative silence for a few moments, the only sound being the dulled noise outside in the Dollhouse and Makkachin’s snuffling as he sniffs at Victor’s bed.

Finally, after a minute has passed, Victor speaks up again.

“Yuuri…” he hesitates. “When you said I didn’t get it…?”

Yuuri’s expression shutters. “... You’ll hate me,” he whispers.

“That’s impossible,” Victor replies, offering an encouraging smile. “I could never.”

Yuuri looks far from reassured, but upon seeing Victor’s determined face, he sighs.

“... I was a mess, after you - after I _thought_ you… died. I was weak, and depressed, and stupid, and I - I blamed myself for it.”

“Yuuri…”

“If I had just told you no, that you couldn’t come to Japan with me after all, you wouldn’t have been in the car to pick up passports. You’d have stayed, and maybe long-distance wouldn’t have worked out for us after all, but I didn’t care because you’d be _alive.”_

Yuuri takes a deep, shaky breath.

“But you were gone, and I had to go home without you… I had to tell my family what happened. Everyone treated me like I was made of glass, and honestly… I felt like it, too. I couldn’t bring myself to unpack your things, or even look at them. Everything hurt, Victor…”

Victor says nothing; he only squeezes Yuuri’s hand, as reassuring as he can manage, urging him to go on.

“A few weeks after I got home, one of our friends from university told me your funeral was coming up, so I got a visitor’s visa and flew back to St. Petersburg. I thought, if I could at least say goodbye to you… Then maybe I’d stop feeling so terrible. But I got to your family home, and…”

Yuuri bites back a sob, to Victor’s alarm.

“They wouldn’t let me in. They said your family blamed me for the accident and I - I was banned from your _funeral,_ Victor! I couldn’t say goodbye, no matter how much I begged them to just let me _see_ you…!”

Victor watches, helpless, as Yuuri sobs openly onto the bed sheets. Makkachin whines, pawing at Yuuri’s leg in an attempt to distract him. But Yuuri goes on.

“Eventually they - they called the police on me, and I was dragged away. They took me to the police station, and I was in a holding cell… And that’s where I found out about the Dollhouse.”

 

* * *

 

_The cell is freezing, but Yuuri finds it hard to care when he’s still crying his eyes out, curled up into a little ball on the threadbare bed. He’s alone in here._

_But not for long._

_He doesn’t hear the cell gate creak open, or see the way an officer shoves another occupant inside. What he does register is the loud, furious voice that shouts at him._

_He jolts, head snapping up to see a - a teenager? A teenager with blond hair and green eyes glaring down at him, mouth moving at a mile a minute. Yuuri’s Russian is only so good, since he and Vi - … Since he only spoke English while he lived here, and so what the teenager is saying to him is mostly lost. He knows it can’t be anything pleasant, judging by tone alone. And he’s holding something in his hand, outstretched towards Yuuri - through the blurry haze of tears, he thinks it’s a fist, and the teen might be threatening to hit him._

_“I-I don’t,” he flusters, still crying and growing more distressed by the minute, “I don’t understand!”_

_The teen glowers at him. “English?” he asks roughly._

_Yuuri nods._

_“Take this” he continues, jabbing his fist towards Yuuri more insistently._

_Yuuri blinks, clearing his vision a bit. He sees the teen’s hand, and… oh. He’s holding an old handkerchief._

_Hesitant, he reaches out and takes it, staring at the teen with wide eyes._

_The teen doesn’t appreciate his staring. “Fucking wipe your eyes, you weirdo!”_

_Yuuri jolts and does just that, hurriedly wiping the cloth across his face. When he’s done, he fearfully hand sit back to the teenager, who snatches it back with a scowl and sits down on the opposite edge of the bed._

_Yuuri hopes that’s the end of their interaction, but his hopes are dashed when the teen speaks up again._

_“The fuck is your problem, anyway? Crying in prison, you look pathetic…”_

_Yuuri sniffs. “I’m sorry…”_

_“Don’t apologize to_ me, _” he mutters. Sighing, he kicks his legs out and starts swinging them over the side of the bed. “So? What are you in here for, piggy?”_

_Piggy? Yuuri figures he’s put on some weight since… everything, but he still frowns at the name, and the rudeness of the person who’s given it to him._

_“I… Why do you care?”_

_“I don’t. But we’re stuck here together until one of us gets out, and who knows how long that’ll take? So entertain me.”_

_“You’re… kind of an asshole.”_

_To his surprise, the teen grins, though it’s a sharp and manic thing. “Yeah. Name’s Yuri.”_

_… “What?”_

_“You deaf? My name is Yuri. Plisetsky, if you wanna get all formal.”_

_“No, I…” Yuuri clears his throat. “My name is Yuuri too, that’s all.”_

_The teen - Yuri - looks surprised for a moment. He’s actually a nice-looking kid when he’s not scowling, thinks Yuuri. But then the anger comes back, and he points an accusatory finger at the older man._

_“Well, fuck off then! I was here first!”_

_“Technically, I was here first… And I’m older…”_

_“Well, I’m…” Yuri waffles for a moment. “... Russian! And we’re in Russia, so fuck you! Where’re you from, anyway? Japan?”_

_Yuuri stares at him, then shakes his head. Maybe he should just try to not antagonize him any further. “... Yeah.”_

_“What’re you doing here?”_

_“... Visiting.”_

_“And you got yourself thrown in jail?” Yuri snorts. “Loser.”_

_“And why are_ you _here?” Yuuri shoots back, annoyed._

_“Stole some money from a convenience store and got caught,” admits Yuri, with all the casual boredom of discussing the weather._

_“Why…?”_

_“I need money for shit,” he replies vaguely. “That’s my story. Your turn.”_

_“...” Yuuri holds back a sigh. “I guess I was trespassing,” he says, listless._

_“... You guess?”_

_“I was supposed to be there,” Yuuri murmurs. “I needed to be there. But they wouldn’t - they said I wasn’t welcome.”_

_“Uh…” Yuri stops kicking his legs and looks at Yuuri with worry. “Where was this…?”_

_Yuuri purses his lips. “My fiance’s funeral.”_

_There’s a beat of silence._

_“Oh, shit.”_

_“He died last month,” Yuuri blurts, unable to stop himself. “In a car accident. I - we were supposed to move back to Japan together, because my student visa was terminated for some reason, and even though I didn’t want him to he said he would go with me wherever I was, and then he_ proposed _and we started getting everything ready - but then he_ died, _and I had to go home alone, and… I came back for his funeral, but his family wouldn’t let me in. They said it was_ my _fault…”_

_Yuuri knows he’s crying again, but all Yuri does in reply is fling the handkerchief at him again._

_“Jesus fuck,” the teenager says quietly. “I… I’m sorry.”_

_Yuuri holds the handkerchief to his eyes._

_“... You, uh… You must’ve really loved the guy.”_

_“He was everything to me,” Yuuri whispers. “And I couldn’t even say goodbye…”_

_He feels an awkward pat on his back, and turns to see that Yuri’s shuffled closer. The teen isn’t looking at him, instead opting to stare at the ground, but Yuuri finds he appreciates the gesture all the same._

_“Have you…” Yuri starts, then stops, licking his lips. “... ever heard of the Dollhouse?”_

_Yuuri frowns. “No?”_

_What does a dollhouse have to do with anything?_

_“Look. There’s this place people talk about… They help people like you. People with trauma, who wanna… forget it all. Y’know?”_

_Forget…? Yuuri’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”_

_“I don’t know how they do it,” Yuri says. “All I know is that they have you sign a contract, you work for them for a few years, and then they pay you a shit ton of cash and mess with your head so that you don’t remember any of it - and they take away the bad stuff that was haunting you.”_

_Yuuri looks at him incredulously. “That can’t be real.”_

_“It is!” Yuri argues passionately. “I’ve been there! They have an office right here in St. Petersburg!”_

_“So if you work for this ‘Dollhouse’, why were you stealing cash from a convenience store?”_

_“I said I’ve been there,” Yuri pouts. “They wouldn’t let me sign up. I’m not old enough, or some other bullshit.”_

_“Still…” Yuuri looks down at the handkerchief. “Even if that’s true, doesn’t it sound too sketchy? What kind of work? Why do you even need the money?”_

_“...” Yuri glares at his shoes. “I have shit I have to take care of, okay? I’m… I’m the only provider in my family right now.”_

_“... That must be hard.”_

_“Shut up,” Yuri replies, though Yuuri’s beginning to suspect that’s more of a reflex, since it lacks any real heat. “Just… it’s something to consider, right? If you could choose to just forget your fiance and all the bad stuff that comes with that, wouldn’t you?”_

_Yuuri opens his mouth to say an immediate and definite ‘no’, but… it doesn’t come out._

_Because he’s actually_ thinking _about it._

_He and Yuri sit in silence for ten minutes more, neither looking at the other. Finally, when an officer returns and gruffly informs Yuuri that he’s being released, he stands, ready to leave this place and never see Yuri again…_

_He feels a cloth being pushed into his hand. He looks down at sees Yuri not looking at him, but the handkerchief once more in his possession. He wants to say no thank you, he doesn’t need it anymore, but the officer shouts impatiently for him to get out, and so he reluctantly obeys, the damp cloth in his fist._

_Once he leaves the station, he takes out the handkerchief and notices a black smudge on it. Frowning, he unravels the cloth and sees that Yuri’s somehow written on it while they were in the cell._

_Yuuri stares at the handkerchief for what feels like an eternity._

_On it is an address, for a location right here in St. Petersburg._

_And right underneath that…_

‘You need them more than me.’

 

* * *

 

“I ended up going,” Yuuri says, while Victor watches on in stunned horror. “I thought, I’ll just see if it’s real… But then I got there, and they told me what they could do… I-I…”

“Yuuri, you…”

“I wanted to forget you,” he interrupts with a broken voice. “I felt so awful, but everything hurt and I didn’t know if I could keep going when all I could think about was you… I-I… I wanted to move on. The thought of having to continue without you was terrifying to me.”

He looks at Victor with his tear-filled eyes. Victor’s heart is going to break, because Yuuri looks so _devastated._

“I wanted to forget you,” he repeats morosely. “How could you ever forgive me for that?”

Victor lifts his hand to wipe away a tear. “Yuuri…”

Yuuri shakes his head, pulling his face out of Victor’s reach and shutting his eyes. “No! No, please don’t… Don’t _comfort_ me. I don’t deserve…!”

Setting his jaw, Victor grabs for Yuuri’s hand. “Yuuri, look at me.”

Shaking, Yuuri does.

“I forgive you,” Victor says firmly, blue eyes meeting brown head-on.

“W… Why?”

“Yuuri, you weren’t in a good place. Nobody who comes here is. Honestly, I… I might've done the same.”

“You don’t know that,” Yuuri protests.

“You don’t either,” he retorts. “Yuuri, I love you so much. As soon as I got my memories back, it destroyed me to think of you in here, being used by all those people who didn’t even know you, all because you were lied to by my grandfather. I can’t imagine what you must’ve felt like, thinking I was _dead._ And I hated myself, because I couldn’t do much besides wait and rely on others to help me rescue you…”

“Victor…”

“And… You remember, don’t you?” Victor smiles sadly. “I was one of your clients.”

Yuuri’s breath hitches. “... You didn’t know me…” he offers as an excuse, but Victor shakes his head.

“No, but I remember what I felt like. There was something about Haruhiko, about Masaru, about _Eros,_ that called to me. I craved you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was obsessed. Even though I had no reason to be. It was because I remembered _you_ , Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s subconsciously leaned in, and so Victor takes advantage of that to cup his cheek again. Their faces are close, so close Victor wants to stop right now and just kiss him, but he pushes that desire back to keep going.

“I know it’s fucked up to think about it this way, but… If you hadn’t come here, we never would’ve found each other again. I would still be under my grandfather’s thumb, and you wouldn’t even remember me. You wouldn’t have known that I was alive.”

Yuuri’s hand closes around Victor’s, holding him fast to his face. “You can’t just act like everything is fine now, Vitya.”

“I know it isn’t. But everything is better, right? We have each other again. We can work through the rest later. Together.”

Yuuri, blessedly, gives him a wobbly smile. “Together,” he agrees softly.

Smiling back, Victor gently tugs him in closer. Yuuri goes without resistance, and their lips meet in the middle.

Yuuri tastes wet and salty from his tears, but more importantly to Victor, he tastes like home.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :) tfw you make yourself cri
> 
> So, by my estimate, there's about one chapter of the main story left, plus the two endings. And I've started writing an AU where Valentina gets away from Anton before Victor is even born, so there's that.
> 
> I can barely believe we're so close to the end!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (updates at night then runs off to bed)

* * *

 

Mila Babicheva awakes with a start.

She feels disoriented, like the entire world has shifted around her as soon as she opens her eyes. All she can see above her are two bright lights and a tiled ceiling, but just as she processes that, there’s a soft voice at her side.

“Miss Babicheva?” it asks. It’s male, and it’s… familiar.

She jerks her head to the side to see a man, who seems to be in his late twenties, with dark hair and blue eyes. Again, the feeling of familiarity washes over her, but she’s certain she’s never met this man before. It’s the only thing she  _ is  _ certain of, at the moment.

The man gives her a gentle smile, and despite her confusion, Mila relaxes. 

“Miss Babicheva,” he repeats, more softly this time. “You’re in the Dollhouse. Do you remember?”

“Doll…” Mila frowns, about to say no, when it all suddenly clicks. The incident at her school, the humiliation and torment she suffered, the utter desperation she faced… It all led her to some swanky, high-class office where a Swiss man with a somber smile promised her he could make her forget it all. 

The Dollhouse. She does remember.

The man must see the recognition in her expression, for his smile shutters and he looks reluctant.

“Your contract with the Dollhouse has been terminated. You’re free to go.”

Mila sits up. “But I… I remember. I’m not supposed to remember… Right?”

“There is… a new development. Just hear us out, if you would?”

She furrows her brow, but before she can ask what he means, the door to the room opens, and another, shorter man walks in. Unlike the first man, she has no feeling towards him other than perhaps caution. He nods at the first man and approaches her seat. He’s also significantly more intimidating, but Mila keeps her eyes on him, just in case.

“Hello, Miss Babicheva,” he greets. “My name is Otabek Altin. I’d like your help with something...”

 

* * *

 

Christophe looks up as Minako walks towards him, an easy smile on her face. It’s a rare look for her, considering the state of things for the past few months. Still, it’s a smile Christophe wouldn’t trade for anything.

He gestures to the open seat beside him, and she obliges, settling fairly close, their thighs touching. They’re in the center of the Dollhouse, which is now mostly quiet. Most of the staff have been escorted away by Otabek’s men for more questioning. The only people left to worry about are the Dolls themselves, who are currently in the process of being restored to their original personalities and given Otabek’s deal. 

Honestly, Christophe has no idea how many of them will agree to it. If it were him, he’d rather not remember the Dollhouse at all.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Minako pipes in, placing her hand on top of his own.

He smiles at her and entwines their fingers together. “I’m mostly in disbelief. We… We really did it.” He looks around the empty, expansive space. “And this is only the beginning.”

Minako hums her agreement. “You successfully completed your mission, Mr. Former-Director. The Dollhouse is shut down, every Active is free to go… And you reunited your star-crossed lovers.”

Christophe chuckles. “Have you checked in on them?”

“I wanted to give them some space. Have you?”

“Poked my head through the door a few hours ago. They were both asleep on Victor’s bed, clinging to each other like the world was ending.”

“Can you blame them?”

He shakes his head. “Of course not. I’m just glad things worked out.”

Minako sighs then, shifting slightly in her seat. “You know, it’s not necessarily going to get easier from here on.”

“No, I know,” he grimaces. 

Of course, Minako is right. There’s still the matter of tracking down the other Dollhouses, the other Members of the Board, and the other Chairmen besides Anton Nikiforov. Not to mention the trial of Anton himself, though he’s currently unconscious in a hospital, thankfully far away from his grandson and his lover.

(The attending doctor said the bullet wound to his cheek would leave a nasty scar. Christophe remembers the vicious feeling of pleasure that surged through him upon hearing that.)

“So,” Minako says, drawing his attention back to her. “What’s next for you, Chris?”

He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Well. Otabek offered me a decent deal… I help him and his organization shut down the other Dollhouses, I don’t serve time. Of course, I’m not sure how much I deserve, but…”

“Oh, stop,” she rolls her eyes. “Anyone with a brain can see how much you care about the Actives. It’ll be a good job for you.”

“I suppose we’ll see,” he concedes. “First, I want to make sure the St. Petersburg Actives are all taken care of.”

She nods. “That sounds good to me. Then, after that, I think we should hit the Tokyo Dollhouse first. It’s been a while since I’ve been home.”

Christophe blinks. “‘We’...?”

She gives him a side-eyed look. “What? You thought I wasn’t coming with you?”

He stares at her, once again taken aback by her actions. “I just thought… you’d want out…”

“Please,” she snorts, though at the same time, she squeezes his hand. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

He lets out a small breath, either a chuckle or a gasp; he isn’t sure himself. But he is sure that the look he gives the woman beside him is one of pure adoration. He squeezes her hand in return, and leans over to rest their foreheads together.

“You really are too good for me,  _ mon cygne,”  _ he murmurs.

“And don’t you forget it,” Minako whispers back.

Then, as naturally as breathing, they both lean in, letting their lips meet.

The kiss feels soft and sweet and, for Christophe, many years overdue.

 

* * *

 

Victor hasn’t let go of Yuuri for more than a minute since returning to the Dollhouse. Honestly, he’d done the same after Yuuri went off on a school trip for an entire week, but back then, Yuuri had only found it a little exasperating.

Now, he clings to Victor just as tightly.

They sit on Victor’s infirmary bed, Yuuri’s head tucked against the older man’s chest, while Victor threads his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. They’re both silent, merely listening to each other’s breathing and the dulled whir of machinery coming from the infirmary’s equipment. Emil has checked in on them every hour or so, and so has Christophe, but save for them, and Makkachin’s constant vigilance on the foot of the bed, they’ve been left alone.

“ _ Zvezda moya?”  _ prompts Victor, stirring Yuuri from a sleepy reverie. 

He lifts his head and blinks at the man, brow furrowed in inquiry. “Mm?”

The arm Victor has wrapped around his shoulders tightens almost imperceptibly, though Yuuri still feels it and frowns. 

“I was thinking… We should talk about what we’re going to do.

More alert, Yuuri now moves to sit up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Everything is different now. My grandfather is going to go to prison. His company is probably going to be shut down, considering how tied up in this place it was... I don’t have anywhere to go, Yuuri.”

Yuuri frowns. “That’s not true. You can still come home with me.”

Victor gives him a wry grin. “It would be a hell of a shock to your parents, though, wouldn’t it? I couldn’t ask that of them.”

He shifts, sitting on his knees and facing Victor. A sad expression marks his face. “They were going to welcome you with open arms before. What’s different now?”

“Yuuri, look at us.” Victor gestures between them. “We’re… We’re kind of fucked up, now.”

“Victor…”

“I’m not saying your parents wouldn’t still help, but… It doesn’t feel fair, putting all of this on them so suddenly. I mean, how would you feel if your son, who’s been missing for almost five years, suddenly comes home with his dead fiance in tow?”

Yuuri presses his lips together in a thin line. “I’d be  _ happy.” _

Victor sighs. “Yuuri…”

“You said we’d work through this together,” he interrupts, angrily. “What happened to that?”

“I just… I don’t want to be a burden to your family.”

“You won’t be.”

“How do you know?”

_ “Victor.”  _ Yuuri grabs either side of Victor’s face, forcing the older man to look him in the eyes. “My parents loved you. My sister loved you. Mom was already going around telling everyone in Hasetsu about her son-in-law, and we weren’t even married yet. They cried with me when I told them you died. And I know you don’t want to burden them, because  _ neither do I.  _ We can get our own place, if you want. Or jobs. We don’t have to rely on them for everything, but… I need my family just as much as I need you if I want to recover from this…”

He looks pleadingly at his lover. “And you’ll need more than just me.”

Victor reaches up, closing his hand around one of Yuuri’s. He offers a sad, tired smile. “... Our own place, huh?”

Smiling back, Yuuri curls back against Victor’s chest. “Assuming my mom doesn’t want to keep us in eyesight at all times.”

“What jobs would we even get? Neither of us finished our degrees.”

“I’ll flip burgers, if I have to.”

Victor chuckles, lightly jostling Yuuri against him. His arms wrap around his shoulders as he presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“... You should be dancing,” he says quietly. “You should be on a stage, performing for the world.”

Yuuri grimaces. “... And you should be making movies. We still could, one day.”

“Yeah,” mumbles Victor, tightening his hold on Yuuri. “Maybe one day…”

They sit in a semi-comfortable silence once again, but it’s cut short by a knock to the infirmary’s door frame. They both turn their heads to see Otabek, who has an apologetic smile on his face as he steps inside.

“Sorry. Is now a bad time?”

Victor and Yuuri exchange glances. The latter shrugs helplessly, so Victor shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine. What did you need?”

“I wanted to talk to you both about our next step.” Otabek approaches them, taking the seat beside Victor’s bed. “I heard from Christophe that you’re going to move back to Japan?”

“Yes…?” Yuuri replies with uncertainty. “Is that… okay…?”

“Of course. After what you’ve both been through, I think getting away from St. Petersburg is a good idea.” Otabek pauses, then sighs. “That being said… I’d like for you both to testify at the trials.”

“Trials?” asks Yuuri. 

“Anton’s,” he clarifies. “And possibly anyone else involved with the St. Petersburg Dollhouse that we apprehend and decide to prosecute.”

Victor shifts uncomfortably. “What would testifying entail?”

“Well… It would definitely require you both to return to Russia, even if only for a few days at a time. Your expenses will be paid for by my agency, naturally. Once you’re here, you’ll be asked to provide the court with a summary of your experiences at the hands of Anton and the Dollhouse.”

Yuuri tenses. “Will we have to say everything…?”

Otabek gives him a sympathetic nod. “You’ll have to answer everything honestly. And… yes, the court will likely want the full story.”

“Do we have to?” asks Victor. “I… I don’t mind testifying against my grandfather, but if Yuuri doesn’t want to…”

“To be honest, more of the former Dolls have agreed to testify than I was expecting,” says Otabek. “So it’s possible that the case will go just fine without Yuuri’s participation… But we will need you to speak against Anton, Victor. You’re the closest person to him, so your testimony is invaluable.”

Yuuri looks up at Victor. “Are you sure…?”

Victor nods, jaw grimly set. “If I can help put that bastard away, I’ll do it.”

“Alright,” Otabek says, looking slightly more relaxed. His gaze switches over to Yuuri. “And you, Yuuri…?”

“I…” Yuuri’s teeth worry at his bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

“I understand. It’s a tough decision.” Otabek stands up from the chair. “You don’t have to decide now. We’ve still got a few more Dolls to decommission, and I imagine you’ll be wanting to speak to your family.”

Yuuri looks up at him, stunned. “My - ?”

“Seung Gil is contacting them as we speak,” he says, smiling. “He’ll be in here shortly with a way for you to talk to them. Ah.”

Otabek turns his head as another man walks into the infirmary, this one not bothering with the pretense of knocking - Seung Gil. He has a tablet tucked under his arm. 

“There he is now,” Otabek says. He turns back to Victor and Yuuri as Seung Gil approaches. “I’ll give you both some privacy. And please, Yuuri… Take all the time you need before making a decision.”

Yuuri grimaces, but nods anyway. Otabek steps back and starts walking out of the room just as Seung Gil reaches them. 

He unceremoniously shoves the tablet into Yuuri’s fumbling arms. 

“They’re on hold,” he says dully to the bewildered couple. “Just hit the green button and it’ll pick up. It’s a video call. Give that back when you’re done.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and walks away. Yuuri and Victor stare after him. Then Yuuri looks back at the tablet, with no small amount of trepidation. Victor hugs him reassuringly. 

“Go on,  _ zvyozdochka,”  _ he says. “I’m right here with you.”

Yuuri inhales sharply; before he can stop himself, he leans forward and presses a desperate kiss to Victor’s lips. It catches the older man off-guard, but not for long. Soon, he’s returning the gesture.

It ends after only a few more seconds, but it seems to have been enough for Yuuri. He smiles at Victor, whispering a small ‘thank you’ under his breath. Victor smiles back, and Yuuri presses a finger to the green button.

Moments later, they’re greeted the crying faces of Yuuri’s family.

 

* * *

 

Yuri is pissed.

No, he’s… Well, he’s a lot of things right now. Sad, stunned, fucking  _ confused.  _ But ‘pissed’ is the one he’s the most accustomed to, so it’s the one he decides to focus on.

He sits, brooding, on the upper level of the Dollhouse, glaring with as much vitriol as he can muster as whoever is passing by below. Only, there’s just a few people scattered across the lower floor. According to the bitchy-looking lady who was there with him when he woke up, they’re just like him; former Dolls, coming to grips with the world they’ve woken up in.

There’s a guy with a tan and an undercut muffling a sob into his hand as his other holds up a tablet. He’s probably talking to his family or some shit. Everybody else is.

There’s a redhead, sitting a few feet away from Undercut. She had a tablet earlier, but she’d since tossed it aside in favor of curling up on the sofa and hugging her knees. Whoever she was talking to, apparently it didn’t go so well. 

A dark-skinned Asian guy sits the furthest away. He just put his tablet facedown and hides his face in his arms. Yuri’s not going to make any guesses about  _ his  _ situation, but it’s probably not good.

And there’s more of them, a bunch of fairly attractive fucks here and there, and none of them look fucking happy. 

And then there’s Yuri. Yuri, who doesn’t have a fucking tablet, because he doesn’t have any fucking family anymore.

He grits his teeth, tempted to spit through the railings that are stopping him from falling over, in the hopes that he might hit one of those fuckers, but he’s stopped by the sound of footsteps. Immediately he switches his glare towards the source of it - if it’s that fucking bitchy lady again asking if he’s okay, he’s gonna scream - !

Only, the glare vanishes from his face, replaced with a look of shock. The person walking towards him isn’t the lady from before. It’s someone he recognizes from a long, long time ago.

The Other Yuuri stops walking and waves awkwardly, a small smile on his face.

“Um. Hello, Yuri.”

“The fuck?” Yuri blurts, scrambling to his feet. “You’re - what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well…” Yuuri rubs one of his arms and glances over the railing. “You did tell me to come here, so…”

Yuri gawks. “You actually did it?”

“Yeah.”

“S… Shit,” Yuri gulps nervously. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry, if I knew this place was half as fucked up as it really was - !”

“It’s okay, Yuri,” Yuuri interrupts him calmly. “It wasn’t your fault. None of us knew. We were all just vulnerable. Easy to take advantage of.” 

He starts walking again, only stopping when he’s directly in front of Yuri. Yuri frowns up at him, but before he can reply, Yuuri pulls him into a hug. He tenses, every instinct in his body telling him to shove him  _ off,  _ who does he think he is, they’re not  _ friends…  _ But a stronger instinct tells him to accept it. So he quietly wraps his arms around the taller Yuuri’s frame, fighting back the tears that have been threatening to spill for an hour, now.

“I’m sorry, Yuri,” Yuuri murmurs. “I… I heard about your grandfather.”

Yuri squeezes him tighter. “... This place fucking  _ sucks.” _

“It does,” Yuuri agrees, with a faint laugh in his tone. 

When they pull apart, Yuri tries to surreptitiously wipe at his face with his sleeve - only, he’s still wearing the shitty fucking yoga clothes the Dollhouse had him and the other dressed up in, which includes a goddamned tank top, so he stops short, not wanting to get snot and tears on his bare arm.

Something white enters his blurred vision. He blinks, then startles, because his old handkerchief is being held out to him by Yuuri.

“This was in my stuff when I first came here,” he explains softly. “They returned it all to me, but this was yours first, so…”

Sniffling, Yuri swipes the cloth out of his hand and blows his nose with it. 

“... Thanks,” he utters.

Yuuri waits patiently for him to finish cleaning up his face. When he does, they both lean against the railing, looking over the people below. The scene hasn’t changed, but Yuri feels slightly less shitty with someone else here.

They stand in silence for a while. Yuri sneaks glances at Yuuri, whose eyes keep gravitating towards the area marked ‘infirmary’, for some reason.

Before he can ask about it, Yuuri speaks first.

“What did you decide to do?”

“Huh?”

“About the trial.” Yuuri looks at him. “Are you going to testify against the Dollhouse?”

Yuri blinks, then nods. “Fuck yes I am. After all they pulled? They haven’t done jack shit for me.”

Barely fazed by his language, Yuuri only nods thoughtfully. “I see…”

“... What about you? You gonna speak up, too?”

“I wasn’t sure. The… The other option is kind of appealing, too.”

“Oh.” Yuri frowns. 

The other option is one final hop into that stupid, brain-fucking machine. The option to get the Dollhouse removed once and for all from your brain, and act like this all never happened.

It  _ is  _ kind of appealing. But Yuri is a creature fueled by rage and spite, and if he can screw over the Dollhouse, he’ll damn well do it.

“I didn’t want to tell Victor,” Yuuri continues. “He’s going to testify, so I know he doesn’t want to forget. I don’t know how he’ll take it, coming from me.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “Who’s Victor? Another Doll?”

“Oh! Um.” Yuuri’s eyes widen, like he’s just realized something. “Not really…? He’s, well… Remember how I told you about my fiance?”

“The… one who died…?” Yuri replies hesitantly.

“Yeah. Victor. He’s actually, well. Alive.”

“... What.”

“His grandfather ran this place,” Yuuri says hurriedly. “But Victor didn’t agree with it. Long story short, he got his head messed with, but he’s better now. He… He saved me, actually.”

Yuri is - shocked, simply put. It sounds like a hell of a lot more happened to Yuuri than he’s currently saying. Another part of him is annoyed - why does this Yuuri get to have an alive fiance, while he’s got no one left?

A voice in his head tuts, telling him it’s not fair to compare pain. Yuuri’s definitely gone through a lot since he last saw him. They all have.

So he only swallows the lump in his throat and grips the railing with white-knuckled hands.

“I’m happy for you,” he says, and he’s surprised to find that he… kind of means it. Well, Yuuri was such a sad sack when they met. Now he’s got this light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It’s a good look. Then again, anything is better than sobbing your brains out in a prison cell.

Yuuri smiles gently at him. “Do you want to meet him? Our dog is here, too.”

Yuri stares at him. Yuuri stares patiently back.

“... I’m more of a cat person,” he says, after a few seconds. “But… Sure, fine. Whatever.”

With a soft laugh, Yuuri leads him back downstairs and into the infirmary. 

Victor, Yuri imagines, is actually a pretty handsome guy on a regular day, but the way he looks now, with bruises and bandages covering his body, he just looks beat-up and tired. He offers Yuri a kind smile anyway, introducing himself formally. Yuuri slides onto the bed, and Victor immediately cozies up to him, a look of relief and comfort and  _ love  _ on his face. Yuri quietly takes the seat next to the bed, staring at them both with a mix of disbelief and… wistfulness?

Victor gets the conversation going, though, so Yuri doesn’t let himself focus on that. They talk instead, and soon the heat of anger in his body slowly cools. Victor’s… pretty alright, Yuri decides. He can see that he and Yuuri were (and still are) a great couple. It’s good that they found each other again, he thinks to himself.

And their dog is actually really cute.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OFFICIAL LAST CHAPTER IS NEXT
> 
> THEN THE ALTERNATE ENDING
> 
> FOLLOWED BY THE VALENTINA SPIN-OFF, WHICH WILL BE POSTED AS A SEPARATE FIC
> 
> Y 'A L L


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ending 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here we are. Holy shit.

* * *

 

**_Lyon, France_ **

It is, no overstatement, the story of the century.

International media outlets have an absolute field day when the story breaks - it’s just the sort of juicy corruption piece that leaves millions of readers across the world hungry for more.

_ FORMER AELITA CEO INDICTED FOR CRIMES AGAINST HUMAN RIGHTS _

_ NIKIFOROV TRIAL TO BEGIN NEXT MONTH - FORMER ‘DOLLS’ AGREE TO TESTIFY _

_ THE DOLLHOUSE: REAL URBAN LEGEND, AND HOW ONE MIGHT BE CLOSER THAN YOU THINK _

Guang Hong snickers at the last headline. There had been so many conspiracy theorists validated by the Dollhouse story. More people were listening to them now, and that included their new theories about how every first-world country likely had a Dollhouse facility somewhere. And, once again… they aren’t wrong.

“What’s so funny?” Seung Gil asks from across the room. Guang Hong turns his head to see the Korean messing with his computer, wires and chips strung all over his corner of the office. He’s paused in his work only to look at Guang Hong, and he looks vexed at having done so.

Guang Hong grins and gestures to his monitor, though Seung Gil can’t see it from where he is.

“Reading articles about the whole mess. Half of it is theorists screaming they were right while the other is the entire world condemning Anton.”

“That’s good,” Seung Gil replies. “Still don’t see what’s so funny.”

“That’s because you don’t have a sense of humor,” Guang Hong says back. He closes the tabs he has open about the Dollhouse, deciding that his break is probably over now. He has a criminal database to overhaul and optimize, after all.

As he starts working away, he hears Seung Gil return to his own computer. They go on in a companionable silence, with only the whirs of technology as their background music. 

Then, unexpectedly, the silence is broken. By Seung Gil himself.

“So…” He begins, noticeably uncomfortable. That alone is enough to get Guang Hong to stop working and look up at him, eyebrow raised. “I heard you were spending time with, uh… Frederick? After work?”

Guang Hong frowns. Seung Gil isn’t the type to care about interpersonal relationships at the office- he’s learned that very quickly in the three months since he came to work here. 

“He asked me out for a coffee,” he says slowly. “But that was about it. Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Seung Gil says bluntly, and Guang Hong believes it. “Leo does.”

His shoulders slump. “Ah.”

“Look, can you two just talk to each other like adults and leave me out of it? I feel like a third wheel for a relationship I’m not even invested in.”

“Sounds like you’re kind of invested,” Guang Hong points out. “Or were you asking about Frederick just for Leo’s sake?”

The glare Seung Gil shoots him over his monitor is answer enough. Despite himself, Guang-Hong chuckles.

“I’ll try and catch him later, okay? I’m sure he’s busy.”

“Not right now he isn’t,” Seung Gil interjects quickly. “It’s time for his lunch break. And yours.”

“Uh…”

“Go before I kick you out.”

He blinks at his coworker a few times. Seung Gil makes a motion like he’s about to stand up, and that startles Guang Hong into moving. 

He leaves their small office behind, moving to the more densely-populated part of the agency’s headquarters. He’s never known it to not be hectic, but he supposes it’s understandable, given the high-profile case they’ve been working.

With the St. Petersburg Dollhouse caught and closed down, they’ve set their sights on the several other facilities around the world. And with Guang Hong, and the other employees who opted to work with the agency in lieu of punishment, the locations of those facilities has been narrowed down. Strike teams are organized, information is traded with foreign governments, and some of the other Dollhouses’ employees have come forward on their own in exchange for leniency.

Guang Hong navigates easily through the crowd of busy agents and workers, finding it no more difficult then when the Dollhouse itself was full. An odd feeling of nostalgia stabs at him before he quickly shakes it off. He’d enjoyed working at the Dollhouse for years, but once he’d discovered the truth… Every good memory has become tainted.

“Guang Hong?”

A voice draws him out of his thoughts, and he lifts his head to see Leo standing in front of him, a bewildered expression on his face.

“What, uh… What’re you doing here?” the taller man stammers, unused to seeing Guang Hong outside of his office.

“I… work here?” Guang Hong replies slowly. “Um, it’s actually my lunch break. So…”

“Oh, uh… Mine too.”

“I know.” Guang Hong’s fingers twitch by his side. “Do you… wanna get lunch together…?”

Leo’s eyes widen. “Wh - really?”

“Yeah…” Guang Hong offers up his best smile. “We never… We never got to have that talk, anyway.”

Leo keeps staring at him, but Guang Hong politely clears his throat, which startles him into action.

“O-Of course! I’d love to… H-How does a burger sound?”

Guang Hong almost slumps with relief. “So fucking good.”

Leo laughs - and for a moment, another wave of nostalgia hits the former Dollhouse technician. He hasn’t heard that laugh in a while. He… missed it.

“Then follow me, Mr. Ji,” Leo says with a wink. 

They start to walk together, heading out of the agency building. They’re not quite close, but their hands brush together every so often, and Guang Hong finds that he doesn’t mind it in the slightest.

 

* * *

 

**_Voronezh, Russia_ **

JJ drums his fingers against the table, glancing at the empty coffee cup in front of him. He debates getting another - but it’ll be his sixth of the day, and his mother has already expressed her concerns about him not sleeping. He grimaces, and opts to get a water instead. He’d hate to cause his parents any more grief than he already has.

Standing up, he walks over to the water cooler in the far corner of the room. Just as he finishes filling a paper cup, the door opens, drawing his attention. Three figures walk in, all of them familiar to JJ. One is a lawyer, provided to them all by the same agency that rescued them. The other two are like JJ.

Mila offers him a tired smile when she spots him. Phichit barely looks up from the floor.

“I’ll be reviewing your impact statements,” their lawyer announces. “Is there anything else you wanted to add?”

He directs this last question at JJ. He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. With a nod, the lawyer excuses himself and closes the door. All the while, Mila and Phichit have made their way to the table.

“Water?” he asks them, holding up his cup. Mila politely declines, but Phichit, to his surprise, nods. He hurriedly fills a second cup and brings it over to him. Phichit takes the cup almost immediately and gulps its contents down, as if he’d been severely dehydrated. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, once he finishes.

“No problem…” JJ slowly slides back into his own seat and looks at the two of them. “So… How’d it go?”

Mila sighs, folding her arms on the table. “Long and tedious. Just like you said.”

“But you have everything settled?”

“For now.” She runs a hand through her red hair. “... It was hard, you know? Figuring out what to say.”

JJ frowns. “Yeah.”

“I had to keep revising my statement,” she smiles wryly. “I was told it was too ‘vulgar’. Less swearing, they said.”

He gives a humorless chuckle at that. “I’m sure they understood why.”

She hums. “Mmhm…”

For a few long moments, it’s quiet. Then, unexpectedly, Phichit speaks up.

“They told me people would say we asked for this.”

Mila and JJ startle, unused to hearing the Thai man say more than a word. They both look at him in surprise.

He doesn’t meet their eyes and goes on. “And they’re right, you know? I did ask for this. I didn’t care what they did with me while I was a Doll, or an Active, or whatever they called us. I just wanted to wake up and not hurt anymore.” His hands curl into tightly-wound fists in his lap. “But then I wake up, still remembering  _ everything,  _ and I’m told that the people who said they were going to help me are being arrested.”

Hesitantly, Mila reaches out. When Phichit doesn’t move, she rests her hand on top of his shoulder, quiet but supportive.

“I know what they did to us… it was fucked up. I just wanted the easy way out.”

JJ swallows thickly. “So did we. All of us there, that’s why we went to them.”

“It was just too good to be true,” Mila murmurs. 

Phichit takes a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before eventually exhaling. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when this is all over,” he admits. “If it ever even ends.”

“Our identities will be protected,” says JJ. “After the trial is over, we can…” he trails off.

Phichit finally looks at him, pity in his gaze. “We can what? Just… go back to our normal lives, before the Dollhouse? With all this shit still in our heads? Five years of time lost?”

“Well… Yes,” says Mila, though she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I mean… What else  _ can  _ we do?”

“That’s just the problem,” mutters Phichit.

“...” JJ sighs. “Actually, I was… I was planning on doing something a little different.” He waits for them both to look at him before continuing. “We’re supposed to get a settlement. Don’t know the amount yet, but… My family doesn’t need the money, so I was going to donate it all. Y’know, to one of those charities that’re supposed to help with grief.”

“That…” Mila lets herself smile. “That sounds really nice, JJ.”

Phichit nods slowly. “Yeah… My family doesn’t need the money, either. Maybe I’ll do that, too.”

“I’m pretty much on my own,” Mila sighs. “But I guess, depending on how much it is, I can move away and still have enough left over…”

“Don’t force yourself,” says JJ. “We all deserve the money, no matter how much we get. You can do what you like with your share.”

Mila hums again, rolling her shoulders back. “I guess we’ll see. We’ll have to get through the trial, first. I heard Nikiforov’s grandson will be there, too.”

Phichit makes a face. “I heard about him. Just when you think this whole thing can’t get any more fucked…”

“Yeah… Wonder what he’s gonna do when this whole thing ends,” asks JJ.

Mila says, “I just hope he recovers. Him and Yuuri. Ah, and Little Yuri too.”

“Does anyone know if Yuuri agreed to testify or not?” inquires Phichit. “When we last saw him, he didn’t seem so sure…”

JJ pauses, thinking back to the last time they were all in the same place - it was at the Dollhouse’s facility. They’d all just come to terms with what was happening. They shared awkward introductions, had long stretches of contemplative silence together, and eventually… they asked each other what they should do.

Most of them already knew they were going to testify. Others refused, wanting to put this whole business behind them. And then there was Yuuri Katsuki, who didn’t know what to do. 

JJ could understand, sort of. But he felt he owed it to his family as well as himself to help put the Dollhouse down. He didn’t know the full extent of what happened to Yuuri, but from the whispers and gossip he’d overheard from the lawyers, it was far worse than anything the rest of them had experienced. And yet, like Phichit says, he still wasn’t sure.

“Whatever he decides to do,” he says eventually, “I think it’ll be justified.”

The two at the table with him share muted noises of agreement. They lapse into silence again, waiting for their lawyer to reappear. But the air feels lighter somehow, not as suffocating. 

Later that night, JJ returns to his hotel room, and his parents, feeling better than he has in months.

 

* * *

 

**_Moscow, Russia_ **

_ “Anton Nikiforov continues to decline comment. Sources say the former Aelita CEO will have murder added to his charges, counting him responsible for the deaths of Markus Reiter and Yakov Feltsman. The latter was Nikiforov’s business partner…” _

Minako mutes the television as the door to her hotel room opens. As always, there’s a small, niggling fear in her gut that it will be an intruder - someone out to hurt her, maybe a hired goon still on Anton’s payroll - but it’s just Christophe. She relaxes, returning the man’s gentle smile as he locks the door behind him.

“I got a call from Otabek,” he tells her, crossing the room to sit next to her on the bed. “He confirmed it; we’re going to Tokyo next.”

She leans against him. “They’ll heighten their security, you know. Every Dollhouse still operating will.”

“I told him as much. That’s why he’s sending us as scouts.”

She hums. “When are we heading out?”

“He doesn’t want to wait for Anton’s trial to finish,” says Christophe. “Once we testify, and the courts say they’re done with us, we’re to be on the first flight to Japan.”

“Sounds good.”

“Maybe you can show me all your favorite spots,” he nudges her, smirking mischievously.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t even know if I’ll remember the city that well. But…”

As she trails off, Christophe wraps an arm around her shoulders, suddenly frowning. “Minako?”

“Hasetsu is an hour away by plane,” she says quietly. “Maybe… we could…”

“Hasetsu?” he repeats, unsure of the name. It sounds familiar… “Ah. That’s Yuuri’s hometown, right?”

She nods. “I don’t even know if they’ll want to see us. But we could just drop by. See how they’re all doing…”

He smiles at her again, and hugs her closer to his side. “That sounds good to me.”

Minako laughs softly, tucking her head under Christophe’s chin. That seems to be the end of the conversation, for now, so she grabs the remote and turns the volume back on for the television. The news report is still ongoing, not that she’s surprised.

_ “... The final date for the trial is at the end of this month. In addition to several former ‘Dolls’ and handlers, we have received confirmation that Anton Nikiforov’s grandson will also be testifying against him. Victor Nikiforov has declined commenting on the proceedings, telling the media that whatever he has to say will be said in court.  _

_ “After the Saint Petersburg Dollhouse’s dissolution, Victor has left the country and now currently resides in Japan with his fianc _ _ é _ _ , whose name and identity we have been asked to conceal for privacy reasons.” _

 

* * *

 

**_Hasetsu, Japan_ **

Yuuri watches the steam rise from the water, sinking further into its warm depths with a small sigh of content. He’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be home, how relaxed he could be. He’s been on-edge and jumpy for days, his nerves relenting only when his parents and sister set eyes on him for the first time in years - and then immediately rushed over to sweep him into a tight hug.

He’d burst into tears, naturally, but so did they. But what lifted his spirits even more was the welcome they gave to his guests.

The door to the showers slides open, prompting Yuuri to look up. A smile slowly forms on his face as he sees Victor, draped in naught but a small towel, his body glistening wetly. Victor smiles back at him and hurriedly makes his way towards the steaming spring water, discarding the towel before sinking in. Yuuri opens his arms automatically, allowing Victor to envelop him in an embrace. 

Then, Yuuri frowns; there’s a tenseness to Victor’s body that’s only all too familiar to him now.

“Vitya?” he starts, pulling his head back to look up at his lover. “Is everything alright?”

Victor sighs, the smile dropping from his face, replaced with a hangdog expression. “My lawyer called again.”

“A-Ah… What did she say? Everything’s fine with your statement, right?”

“Yes, that’s all settled. She just…” Victor hesitates, his mouth twisting in a grimace. “... She wants me to try and talk you into… you know. Testifying.”

Yuuri flinches, though he can’t say he’s surprised. With a case as notorious as this one’s shaping up to be, it’s no wonder the prosecution wants to lock in as many testimonies as they can to guarantee a conviction. Yuuri’s slightly concerned that they think there’s even the smallest chance that Anton  _ won’t  _ be convicted; with everyone turning against him, who in their right mind thinks he’s innocent?

“I told her it was your decision, and that you didn’t want to,” Victor says, snapping Yuuri from his daze. The Russian is looking down at him with concerned eyes, and he brings up a hand to cup his cheek. 

Yuuri finds it in him to smile again, leaning his head into Victor’s hand. “Thank you, Vitya… Still…” He tries and fails to suppress another sigh, this one considerably more upset.

_ “Zvyozdochka?”  _ Victor prompts quietly.

Yuuri licks his lips. “I… I should testify, shouldn’t I? You, Yura, and everyone else… You’re all so brave.”

“Yuuri…” Victor pulls him into another hug. “No one is saying you aren’t brave. You’ve been brave enough for a few lifetimes, I think.”

Yuuri rests his head against Victor’s collar, his arms wrapped around the taller man’s waist. “But I feel like I should be doing  _ something  _ more to help.”

“You’ve done enough,  _ zvezda.  _ You don’t owe the world anything more than what you’ve already given it. Besides… You’re coming with us back to Russia. That’s all I can ask from you.”

Yuuri hides his smile against Victor’s chest. “When did you start sounding all grown-up?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” sniffs Victor. “I’ve always sounded like this. I’m  _ incredibly  _ mature, Yuuri.”

Yuuri snorts.

Grinning, Victor presses a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head. Then several more to his face. Yuuri starts to laugh, pushing at Victor to get him to stop, but his efforts are half-hearted at best, and Victor continues his onslaught, the kisses growing bolder as he marks a trail down Yuuri’s jaw and onto his neck.

Yuuri gasps as Victor nips at his Adam’s apple. His fianc é’s hands have begun to roam, sliding over Yuuri’s wet skin down to the most sensitive parts of him…

“V-Vitya,” he says, trying for a scolding tone, though it dissolves into a low groan as Victor palms his behind. “Y-You remember the rule! Aah…”

He feels Victor’s smirk against him. “What rule, darling?”

Yuuri opens his mouth, whether to answer or to moan, he isn’t sure. But then the door slams open again, startling them both into awareness. A familiar voice then yells,

_ “No sex in the fucking onsen, you perverts!” _

Victor gives a put-out glare at the intruder. “ _ Yura.  _ We talked about this. Don’t slam doors.”

“Shut up, old man.” Yuri, dressed in the inn’s green  _ jinbei,  _ raises his middle finger at Victor in his typical fashion. “Mama Katsuki says dinner is almost ready. Get your asses out of the bath, we’re having pork cutlet bowls.”

Yuuri immediately perks up at that, but Victor only continues to pout, hugging Yuuri tighter.

“But I just got in!” he whines petulantly.

“Not my problem,” retorts Yuri, who turns on his heel to march back inside. Before he does, though, he tosses a look over his shoulder at Yuuri. “You coming, Katsudon?”

Yuuri smiles at Yuri’s nickname - which he insists is supposed to be an insult, but he and Victor know better - and nods. “I’m coming. We should probably feed Makkachin, too…”

“Already did,” says Yuri, promptly walking back into the inn. Yuuri smiles at his back; and if he looks out the corner of his eye, so does Victor.

“Yura’s a good kid,” Victor comments. “If only he would swear less.”

“He’s an adult,” corrects Yuuri. “And you’re not one to talk about foul language, Vitya. Or should I remind you about last night?”

Predictably, Victor flushes at that, but instead of looking chagrined, he merely grabs Yuuri’s hand, raises it to his mouth, and presses his lips against the shining gold ring on Yuuri’s finger.

“Only because of you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri huffs out a laugh and kisses Victor on the lips. “I’ll see you inside.”

Victor hums, allowing Yuuri to move out of his arms and get out of the onsen. Yuuri flashes him one last smile as he wraps himself up in his towel, and walks into the building of his family’s inn.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Victor watches Yuuri go, the smile on his face growing fainter, but no less fond. When he’s alone, he reclines against the edge of the springs, his face tilted towards the sky. He lifts his hand above him, letting the gold of his own ring glint in the glow of the lanterns strung overhead. 

It all still feels like a dream. Victor clenches his fist and brings it back down, cradling it to his chest. But  _ no.  _ It’s all real. Victor is free,  _ Yuuri  _ is free, and they’re together.

These past few months haven’t been any easier.

They both still have nightmares about it all - being trapped in the Dollhouse with no way out, Anton looming over them with that infuriating, terrifying smirk, the two of them within arms’ reach of each other yet not being able to touch. Victor’s woken up in a cold sweat more than once, often clinging to Yuuri like a lost child. Yuuri’s no better. Once, Victor came to bed, only to find Yuuri curled up in a ball, sobbing about the things he remembered from his time as Eros. With each passing day, though, the memories lose their strength. Haruhiko and Masaru and all the other imprints start to blend and fade, until they’re nothing more than nightmares.

But they’re nightmares nonetheless.

Even Yuri, who hides behind his fury and attitude, isn’t immune. Victor and Yuuri have both rushed to the younger man’s bedroom, right next to their own, because they hear him screaming for his grandfather in the middle of the night. 

Every time it happens, to any of them, they’re there for each other. And not too far away, Yuuri’s family is there, too. Hiroko with a cup of tea, Toshiya with his calming, jovial presence, and Mari, always ready to make threats against the people who hurt them. It’s oddly comforting, in a way. 

They’re a family, the lot of them. From Yuuri’s parents all the way down to Makkachin, who trots about the inn like he’s lived there his entire life. 

So while things aren’t easy, they’re a hell of a lot better than they were before. And they’re better because they have each other, all of them. When the trial comes, they’ll still have each other. Victor will face his grandfather and stand with his other victims to tell the world of his crimes. No matter the outcome, he knows Anton can’t hurt them anymore.

Victor will never live in fear of that man again. Not as long as he has Yuuri by his side, happy and safe and  _ himself. _

He takes a deep breath and exhales. Something light and warm settles in his chest, and he knows what it is.

It’s love.

 

* * *

 

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> The agency Otabek, Leo, and Seung Gil work for is unnamed, but I based it off of INTERPOL. So I made the headquarters of their agency the same - Lyon, France.
> 
> I had scenes for Georgi, Emil, and some of the other handlers, like Isabella and Lilia, planned, but cut them for flow. Basically, they all agree to plea deals. Emil also goes to work for the agency, Lilia retires permanently, and Georgi and Isabella turn to civilian life. Eventually, JJ will want to meet the woman 'responsible' for him for so many years, and... an unlikely romance blossoms from that. I'mm JJBella trash, sue me.
> 
> Yuuri ends up not testifying, but he does attend the trial with Victor and Yurio. All the former Dolls have their faces concealed from the press to protect them from further harassment. 
> 
> Yurio goes with Yuuri and Victor mostly because he doesn't have anywhere else to go, and also you can pry the podium family from my cold dead hands
> 
> Alright, alternate ending is next. I'll save my sappy words of thanks for then.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ending 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know why so many of you thought this would be a downer ending do u guys even know me

* * *

 

Minako readjusts her sunglasses on her face. She knows how unlikely it is that anyone will recognize her here, but she decides to avoid the risk until she gets to her destination.

She walks by small, cozy-looking shops and houses, buildings that have been up since the nineteenth century that still stand proudly, lovingly cared for by the locals.

Yes, Hasetsu is a truly beautiful place.

After more minutes of strolling, she comes upon her destination; one of the larger buildings, with a sign on its front proclaiming itself to be _Yu-Topia Akatsuki._ A hot springs resort, the last of its kind in the town.

She walks through the front gate and enters the lounge, where a bored-looking young woman with bleached hair and piercing murmurs a greeting - though she cuts herself of in surprise once she sees Minako, who pulls off her sunglasses with a small smile.

“Oh… Okukawa-san,” says Mari Katsuki. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“I’m sorry to drop by unannounced,” she replies, and she does mean it; she would’ve called, but this outing was spontaneous at best, and irresponsible at worst.

Mari looks at her with a small frown, but eventually relents, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s fine, I guess. You’re here to see them, right?”

She walks around the counter, putting up a small sign that reads ‘Back Soon!’ for any customers that may wander in while she’s away.

“Just checking in.”

Minako walks with the younger woman through the inn. It’s busier than the last time she was here, which is good. The Katsuki family are good people; they deserve the success.

Mari notices her looking at all the guests and smiles. “That’s all Victor’s doing, you know.”

“Oh?” Minako turns her head back towards her. “What did he do?”

“Joined the tourism board. He made this advertisement for the town that got really popular. Our reservations have gone up twenty percent, and it’s only been a few months.”

“That’s great,” she says earnestly.

“Yurio helped, too. Mostly getting Victor to focus, because the big lug kept trying to make Yuuri the centerpiece of the video. Even though Yuuri kept telling him he wasn’t a main attraction.”

Mari laughs, and Minako can’t help but laugh with her.

“Where are they?” she asks, once they pass out of the more populated area of the inn to a small tearoom. She kneels by the table as Mari goes to fetch a pot. It’s familiar, routine; they’ve done this more than a few times now.

“Victor’s meeting with the tourism board again,” Mari answers. “They’re interested in contracting him to do another video. He’s got a real flair for it.”

“He did minor in filmmaking,” Minako reminds her. “What about the Yuris?”

“Yurio’s at the local ice rink.” Mari starts heating the pot on a nearby hotplate and sits across from Minako while they wait for it to boil. “He finally made a friend at his new school, and he’s big on figure skating. He and Yurio go practically every day after their classes.”

Minako smiles. “A friend, huh? I hope Yuri won’t be a bad influence.”

“Nah. Other way around, I think. Yurio’s just a prickly cat, but Minami-kun - that’s the kid - is really sweet. Victor teases that Yurio might have a crush on him, actually.”

“Mm.” Minako rests her chin on her hand. “And your brother? He still works at the ballet studio?”

“Yeah, but… Oh, hang on.”

Mari cuts the hotplate off when the water boils. She throws some tea leaves in the pot and stirs, waiting for it to steep. While she does that, she answers Minako’s question.

“He’s starting to look into companies to join. He was kind of hesitant, since the nearest one is an hour away by train.”

“But?”

“Victor encouraged him to go for it, anyway. If Yuuri’s successful, he might even be able to establish a company here in Hasetsu one day.”

Mari starts to pour out the tea, filling the two cups already on the table. Minako takes her cup and spares Mari a grateful smile.

“... Would he be willing to go to Tokyo?” she asks quietly.

Mari looks at her strangely. “... Why do you ask?”

“I… I still have some connections there. I might be able to get him an audition with the Tokyo Ballet Company. If he wants,” she adds hurriedly, upon seeing Mari’s cautious expression. “You might not want him to go, not after…”

Mari huffs. “Well, it’d be his choice. It’s not like he can remember what really happened anyway.”

“Right…”

“I’ll ask him about it later,” she finally says. “Anyway. How about you?” A grin stretches across her face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that ring, Okukawa-san.”

Flushing, Minako’s eyes dart to the white-gold diamond ring on her hand. “Well…”

They talk for a while, maybe half an hour or more. Minako usually doesn’t stay so long, but since none of the former Actives are here, she figures it’s safe. It’s been a while since she had a normal talk, anyway. Though her and Christophe’s work is almost done, after nearly two years, they’ve already agreed to sign on as full-time agents. Her life won’t be quite ‘normal’ ever again, save for these brief visits to Hasetsu.

Finally, when all the tea is done, Mari escorts Minako back to the lounge. Mari’s father, Toshiya, has taken over the front desk in her absence. Other than a bewildered blink, he reacts to Minako’s presence warmly, sparing her a smile and a nod before going back to helping a young couple make a reservation.

Mari walks with Minako all the way to the front gate.

“Any idea when you’ll be dropping by next?” she asks.

“Not really,” admits Minako. “Our next assignment is in America. There’s one last Dollhouse in Los Angeles…”

Mari grimaces. “Take ‘em down, will you? Can’t fucking believe people are still doing that.”

Minako nods. “Seems like Anton’s life sentence wasn’t enough of a deterrent.”

“At least the bastard’s dead,” she murmurs darkly. Minako can’t say she disagrees. It was a shock, to be sure, finding out that Anton had committed suicide in his cell, but to everyone who knew him, it wasn’t much of a loss.

Apparently, she learned from Leo later, Guang Hong had actually let out a gleeful cheer upon hearing the news.

Both women’s attention is suddenly drawn to a figure approaching them. Minako tenses, as does Mari, though to a lesser extent.

“Mari-neechan?” Yuuri blinks at the sight of his sister and the stranger beside her.

“Hey, bro,” Mari replies cooly, quickly recovering. “You’re back early. I thought you were having lunch with Victor after your class.”

“I’m just picking up Makkachin,” he says quietly, sneaking glances at Minako. “Um. Who’s - ?”

“Komatsu Yuka,” Minako quickly says, using her alias from her latest mission. “It’s nice to meet you, Mister…?”

“Oh, um,” Yuuri awkwardly bows. “Katsuki Yuuri. It’s nice to meet you too, Komatsu-san.”

“My little brother,” drawls Mari, amused. “By the way, shouldn’t you be saying Romanov-Katsuki?”

Yuuri turns dark pink, sputtering. “W-We’re not married yet!”

“Victor’s already going around introducing himself like that, I don’t get your problem.”

“He’s doing _what?”_

Minako hides her laugh behind her hand. “Romanov? That’s Russian, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes,” says Yuuri, shooting a glare at his sister. “My fiancé is Russian.”

Minako smiles at him, acting as if she didn’t already know.

“Actually, Yuuri,” Mari starts. “Komatsu-san here is a former dancer. I mentioned to her that you were looking at ballet companies…”

“Mari-neechan!” scolds Yuuri.

“What? You are. Anyway, she says she can put a word in for you at the Tokyo Ballet Company.”

“W-What?” Yuuri’s eyes go round as he stares at Minako. “W-Why would you do that? I’m a stranger!”

Minako looks back at him fondly. “Mari showed me a video of you in college,” she lies. “You’re very impressive, Yuuri. The Tokyo Ballet would be lucky to have you.”

Yuuri shrinks in on himself, looking absolutely dumbfounded. Whether it’s solely because of her offer, or because she’s referring to him by his first name, without honorifics, she doesn’t know.

“B-But… Tokyo is kind of far… I don’t know if I could ask Victor to move for me again… And Yuri’s just settled in… A-Ah,” he startles, flailing his arms to explain. “V-Victor is my fiancé! And um, his younger brother’s name is Yuri too, I’m not talking about myself in the third person…”

“What a coincidence,” Minako chuckles. “But, it’s just an offer. Mari’s got my contact information, if you change your mind.” She nods to the other woman, who smiles back. “I’ve got to go. Think about it, okay, Yuuri? You deserve the chance to succeed.”

Yuuri stares at her. “I-I… S-Sure…?”

She can’t help herself - she reaches out and pats Yuuri on the shoulder. “See you later, Yuuri.”

He watches her - and perhaps it’s her imagination, but she thinks she sees a flicker of recognition in his eyes. If so, she needs to hurry and leave; if he remembers, it could be disastrous.

“See you…” she hears him say, but she’s already walking through the gate.

 

* * *

 

“She sounds weird,” declares Yuri, who finishes his second bowl of noodles. Beside him, Makkachin barks, as if in agreement. “But if you wanna do it, go for it, Katsudon.”

Yuuri squirms in his seat, while the members of his family smile at his nervousness. “I-I don’t know…”

Victor hugs his fiancé from behind, resting his chin on the younger man’s shoulder. “I agree with Yura. It’s a great opportunity, _zvezda.”_

“But we’d have to move,” protests Yuuri. “Yuri would have to find a new school! You’d have to get a new job - it’s too inconvenient.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” says Yuuri’s mother, Hiroko, who graciously supplies Yuri with another bowl of noodles, to his delight. “Yurio-kun can stay here and finish his education while you two go to Tokyo.”

“I can easily get a contract there,” Victor says reassuringly. “This is your _dream,_ Yuuri.”

Yuuri bites his lip, his hands moving to rest on top of Victor’s. Hiroko smiles at the gesture.

“I… I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try…” he mumbles.

Victor’s face lights up, and he presses a wet smack to Yuuri’s cheek, earning a startled yelp from him and a groan from Yuri.

“I’m trying to _eat,_ you fucks!”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Victor pipes back. “You can’t still be that hungry.”

“Hey, skating works up an appetite!”

“Is it skating?” wonders Victor. “Or is it Minami that you’re hungry for?”

Yuri screeches. “Shut _up - !”_

“Vitya, Yuri,” Yuuri says, trying to placate both Russians.

Hiroko giggles and leaves them to it, quietly slipping away as they dissolve into another playful - but loud - argument. Makkachin trots after her, tail wagging happily.

“They all fit so well together, don’t they?” she asks the dog, who barks affirmatively. She pats him on the head in thanks. “Especially Vicchan and Yurio-kun. You would never know…”

Her smile dims a bit. You’d never know that Victor and Yuri weren’t actually brothers. They themselves don’t even know.

As far as they and Yuuri are concerned, they’re Victor and Yuri Romanov, two brothers from Moscow. Victor met Yuuri in college, they started dating, and when Yuuri decided to move back to Hasetsu, Victor went with him; and since their parents and grandparents sadly passed away, Yuri tagged along.

Hiroko doesn’t quite understand the science behind it; all she knows is that their minds have been altered. She’d been unsure about it, as had her husband and daughter. The same technology used to hurt their Yuuri, to hurt Victor and Yurio too, being used to _help_ them?

But that man, Otabek she believed, assured her that it would be the last time. They’d made the choice to forget it all. Hiroko couldn’t hold that against them; with all that had happened, she’s not sure _she_ wants to remember the last few years, either.

She does remember hearing about that man’s death, though. Anton Nikiforov. It had been on the news, and everyone had gathered in the lounge with rapt attention. The Dollhouse case was infamous, after all. To hear that the man at the center of it all killed himself… It gave her chills, though she has no sympathy for the man. Not after what he did to them.

 

_“Good riddance,” Yuri says disinterestedly, going back to his phone. Everyone else keeps their eyes on the screen, where a reporter is discussing the details of Anton’s suicide. “The world’s better off without him.”_

_“Yuri,” Yuuri scolds softly, though he doesn’t look too upset. “Don’t be insensitive. That man still has family.”_

_“Just a grandson,” Yuri shoots back. “And no one even knows where or who he is. Fuck, I’d stay hidden too, if that monster was my grandpa.”_

_“I hate to agree with Yuri, but I feel like I have to,” mutters Victor. He’s unaware of Hiroko’s intense, nervous stare, wondering if he’ll remember. “That man_ was _a monster.”_

_Yuuri sighs. “I just don’t like celebrating someone’s death. He should’ve served his life sentence. It’s only fair, to the people he hurt.”_

_Victor hums, laying his cheek on top of Yuuri’s head as they all - sans Yuri - continue to watch._

“Sources say Anton scratched a word into his wall before hanging himself,” _the reporter goes on. An image appears on screen, showing the wall of a prison cell. Indeed, a word has been scratched into the wall just above the bed._

‘VALENKA’

_Victor startles, earning a surprised look from all gathered._

_“Vitya?” asks Yuuri. Even Yuri’s put down hsi phone, watching his older brother with concern. Then he too catches sight of the name on the screen, and he breathes in sharply._

_“What?” asks Hiroko. “What’s wrong?”_

_“That’s…” Victor swallows, clearly uneasy. “Valenka’. It’s, um, a nickname for Valentina.”_

_“Which was our grandma’s name,” elaborates Yuri. “Jesus Christ, that’s fucking creepy.”_

_“Oh…” Yuuri looks back at the screen, where the image has since faded, replaced with more footage of the reporter, who explains that no one is sure what the significance of the name is yet. They speculate a family member, though all of Anton’s family is either dead or, likely, in witness protection. “Are you both alright?”_

_“I’ll switch the channel,” Hiroko says, and hurries to do so. She finds the remote and fumbles for a bit before hitting a button. The reporter promptly disappears. Now, there’s a soccer game playing out on the television. She glances anxiously at the Russians._

_Yuri has scooted a little closer to Yuuri, who in turn rubs his hand up and down Victor’s back._

_“I’m… fine,” Victor says, after a deep breath. “Sorry. That just surprised me a little.”_

_“It was kind of weird,” says Yuri. “But I guess Valentina’s not that uncommon name. It’s not like it’s actually_ Baba. _”_

_Victor nods, though his eyes look far away. “Yeah…”_

_Makkachin, who’s been resting with his head in Victor’s lap, whines, bringing everyone’s attention to the poodle. He’s looking up at Victor with his big, dark eyes, as if complaining that Victor’s stopped petting him. Victor gives the dog a smile, scratching him behind the ears._

_“Sorry, Makka.”_

_Yuuri kisses Victor’s cheek, making Yuri scoff and return to his phone. The moment seems to have passed, and Hiroko lets out a small breath of relief._

 

Hiroko knows she'll have to be more careful in the future. That man and the Dollhouse will never have their names uttered under her roof again.

She needs to protect her children, after all.

 

* * *

 

“Oh god… Oh _fuck,_ Vitya…”

Victor grins to himself, burying his face in the nape of Yuuri’s neck as he continues rolling his hips in a deep, steady pace.

“Quiet now, _zvezda._ You might wake up Yura.”

Yuuri whines, biting down on his lip in an effort to silence himself. It only barely works.

Victor presses his lips against Yuuri’s pulse point, pushing into his fiancé’s body with a harsh thrust. It makes Yuuri _tremble;_ his legs, wrapped around Victor’s waist, tighten their hold on him, as if trying to get him to slow down. His arms also tighten around Victor’s neck, drawing him in closer.

“V-Vi - _hng…_!”

“Should I gag you?” Victor wonders aloud, knowing the effect it’ll have on Yuuri. As he expected, Yuuri’s hole clenches around his cock, telling of his enthusiasm, even if Yuuri’s cheeks only flush darker with embarrassment.

He chuckles, raising himself up out of Yuuri’s grasp. The man below him whimpers, reaching back up with urgency, but Victor gently uncurls his lover’s legs from his waist, pulls out his cock (with some reluctance) and urges him onto his stomach instead.

The lower part of Yuuri’s face ends up pressed against a pillow. Suddenly, it seems like Yuuri understands. He glances back at Victor with wide, inquisitive eyes.

“Go on,” Victor smirks, holding his cock against Yuuri’s quivering hole again. “Let loose, _zvyozdochka.”_

He plunges himself back inside, just as Yuuri buries his face into the pillow and screams. Victor only barely manages to suppress a low moan himself; he loves sex with Yuuri, every single part of it, but his favorite bit has always been hearing the sounds he manages to draw out of his quiet, withdrawn fiancé.

He’d become addicted to the noises back when they lived together in Moscow, when Yuri was staying with their grandfather. But now, since Yuri lives in the same building as them (in the next room no less, along with the rest of Yuuri’s family), they’ve had to be quiet.

So hearing Yuuri scream and moan into his pillow, muffled words of nonsense and pleasure, as much as he’d like to hear it at full volume, will have to do.

Victor picks up the pace as he feels himself grow closer to the edge. He pounds into Yuuri as roughly as he can - it’s one of those blessed days when Yuuri doesn’t have a ballet class the next morning.

Yuuri lets out a muffled sob, arching his back to meet Victor’s thrusts.

Victor reaches under Yuuri, hand curling around his thus-neglected cock. The touch makes Yuuri curse into the pillow. Grunting, Victor’s other hand reaches for Yuuri’s head - it gets in between his face and the pillow, allowing him to slip his fingers inside his mouth. Yuuri gives a garbled moan around the digits, coating them with spit while Victor pumps his cock, his thrusts never relenting.

“ _Veegyah_ ,” the younger man shouts, as it’s all too much; he comes surprisingly silently, spraying his semen on the towel underneath him.

Victor forgets himself for a moment and groans loudly. “Fuck yes, Yuuri, god…!”

He comes soon after, emptying himself into Yuuri’s still-convulsing entrance. He barely remembers to pull out and roll onto his back, to avoid crushing Yuuri as he collapses onto the bed. Yuuri’s legs still twitch with the aftershocks, so Victor reaches over and runs a soothing hand down his back.

Yuuri mutters incoherently.

Victor smiles. “We should check into a love hotel.”

That makes Yuuri lift his face to stare at him, incredulous. “Where did that come from?” he asks, voice slightly hoarse.

“So we can be as loud as we want,” Victor replies simply. Having recovered enough to move, he reaches under Yuuri to collect the soiled towel. Yuuri lifts his hips to allow this, though the movement causes some of Victor’s come to slip out and slide down his thigh. Victor almost gets hard again at the sight, but manages to keep himself in check. He’s not sure either of them can keep their voices down for two rounds in a row.

Instead, he wipes up what he can with the towel, and when that’s done, he disposes of it to the laundry basket. Then he returns to the bed, gathering Yuuri in his arms and kissing his temple.

“I love you,” Yuuri murmurs sleepily, and out of nowhere.

Still, Victor is delighted. Usually he’s the first to say it. “I love you too.”

“... Hey, Vitya?” Yuuri asks, after a few minutes of silence have passed. Victor almost thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Yes?”

“Do you… ever regret leaving Russia?”

Victor frowns. “Now where did _that_ come from?” he asks, echoing Yuuri’s earlier question.

“I mean,” he can see the red flush tipping Yuuri’s ears. “This whole thing about the ballet company in Tokyo… I don’t know if I can ask you to move for me again, not when you’ve just gotten settled in Hasetsu.”

Victor sighs. “Yuuri, I already said - !”

“I know what you said,” Yuuri interrupts. “But sometimes I wonder… don’t you miss home?”

Victor hesitates. Then, he props himself up to stare down at Yuuri, who looks back with an unsure gaze.

“I won’t lie,” he starts. “Sometimes, I do. I miss how it would snow all winter, I miss the food, and sometimes I miss hearing other people speak Russian besides my brother.”

Yuuri’s mouth twists, but Victor isn’t finished.

“But when I met you, Yuuri, I knew I wouldn’t be able to live my life without you. So without hesitation, I will go wherever you need me to be.”

Yuuri averts his gaze sadly. “I just feel so selfish… You’re always doing this, sacrificing so much for me…”

“It isn’t a sacrifice,” says Victor. “You would do the same for me.”

Yuuri’s eyes glisten, and he sniffs before wiping an arm across his face. “Vitya…”

“I mean it,” Victor lowers his face closer to Yuuri. His face is completely serious. “I’d do anything for you, Yuuri.”

To his joy, Yuuri quirks a smile, though his eyes are still wet.

“Define ‘anything’, Victor.”

“Anything means anything,” he says confidently. “I’d fight off an entire army if they tried to take you from me.”

At that, Yuuri actually giggles. “Now you sound like Yuri.”

“Well, I’m sure Yuri would fight a platoon for you. But like I said. _I’d_ take on the whole army.”

“Why would an army even want me that badly?”

“Have you met yourself?”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

Victor lets himself laugh, and so does Yuuri. Victor falls back onto the bed, letting his fiancé cuddle closer to his side.

“... I hope you never have to,” Yuuri says, after a beat. “Fight anyone for me, I mean.”

“... Mm, I hope not, too. I’m not much of a fighter.”

“That’s fine by me,” murmurs Yuuri, who presses his lips to Victor’s collarbone. “... Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“If… If I get into the Tokyo Ballet - !”

“ _When_ you get in.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “After we settle in Tokyo… I want to get married.”

Victor’s heart skips a beat. “Y-You do?”

He nods. “We’ve put it off long enough… I want to be Yuuri Romanov-Katsuki already.”

“O-Okay.” Victor grins, positively giddy. “God, now I want to move to Tokyo _right now.”_

Yuuri laughs against him, resting his head on the Russian’s chest. “Let’s go to sleep, Vitya.”

How is he supposed to sleep now, with Yuuri dropping a bombshell like _that_ right before bed? … is what he would say, but he can see the way Yuuri’s eyelids are drooping. He’s gotten a lot of his chest and is now tired, or so it would seem. So he complies, letting Yuuri doze off on him while his mind races with the excitement of the near future.

Yuuri will get into the company; of that, Victor is certain. And then they’ll move to Tokyo, get their own place, and… get married.

Yuuri Romanov-Katsuki.

Something about Victor’s last name has always bothered him. It never felt… his, like a glove that didn’t quite fit.

But if it was the name Yuuri was willing to take, to spend the rest of his life with… Victor finds he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

 

* * *

 

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically: Yuuri, Victor, and Yuri all opt to forget the Dollhouse. Victor and Yuri's memories are altered so that they think they're family. Only Yuuri's family knows the truth, but they keep it hidden for their sake. 
> 
> Still, the trajectory of their lives after the Dollhouse is about the same as I was imagining in the original ending. Yuuri will still be a danseur eventually, Victor will put his filmmaking degree to good use, and Yurio gets to go to college and just be normal (and meet Minami 'cause hey I'm still Plinami trash too don't @ me). 
> 
> The spin-off story about Valentina, like I said, will be posted separately, so I've made a series for both fics. Keep a lookout, kids.
> 
> Anyway. Wow. I posted the first chapter of this fic back in February of 2017, so it's practically been an entire year from start to finish. I remember writing a draft of the first chapter in my psychology class, bored out of my mind, just expecting it to be a quick oneshot; an experiment, at best.
> 
> I can't tell you guys how much your comments have meant to me over the course of this fic. I really wasn't expecting such a strong response, and after the Twist in chapter 8? Holy shit, my inbox was flooded. This is my longest story to date, and that's because you guys kept me going. Thank you so, so much.
> 
> And a special thanks to the friends who gave me advice and screamed at me in the discord chats - sometimes at the same time. You know who you are. 
> 
> With love (and until next time),  
> persephoneggsy


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